


Fairytale of New York

by artistic-writer (Itrustyoutokillme), Itrustyoutokillme



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, Barista!Emma, F/M, Gen, Otps, Slow Burn, boss!killian, drunken Emma, drunken killian, will they wont they
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2018-12-03 21:05:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11540418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itrustyoutokillme/pseuds/artistic-writer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itrustyoutokillme/pseuds/Itrustyoutokillme
Summary: An AU elsewhere fic based in New York.  Emma Swan and her best friend Mary Margaret "Snow" Blanchard are ready for a change.  After Mary Margaret gets offered a new job at a school in Manhatten, Emma decides to go with her.  She takes a job in a traditional, mom and pop diner called Granny's and soon both of them are finding love in the most unlikely of places.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a new one for me - a long CS fic! But I hope everyone likes it! I do not have a single beta reader, so I am so sorry for any mistakes that you might find. If you wanted to be my beta, i will assume that you are enjoying this fic and write more! I will also post updates to tumblr, so if you wanted to follow me there, i am @artistic-writer.

There was something satisfying about moving. Emma had always wanted to live in New York, having previously lived so close, but had never had the opportunity until now. At twenty four, Emma was now packing up the measly remnants of her life and moving with her best friend to the big city of dreams. Except, Emma still didn't know what her dream was exactly. All Emma knew was that she didn't like to stay in one place for too long, and after living with Mary Margaret Blanchard for the last six years, it was time for a change of scenery.

Emma loved Mary Margaret like a sister. They had met when they were just five and seven years old, both wards of the state, who floated through the cracks of the system like they were nothing. Every time they were housed, the two would run away, content only with each other's company until they were inevitably found. There was a point in their history when the system assumed they were sister's and from then on, they were always housed together. However, their penchant for running and many a reluctance to foster two young girls, often meant that they stayed in group homes more often than not.

Emma had often joked about how they were magically joined at the hip, connected in some sort of past life they hadn't known about. Mary Margaret, the slightly older of the two at twenty six, had agreed but given Emma pensive trademark look she always carried. Like a scolding mother, Mary Margaret would pull her brows together, throw a hand upon her hip and tilt off to the side, her whole body leaning like a statue made of stone. Emma knew she felt it too, which was why they had become so inseparable.

Mary Margaret was a teacher. Much to Emma's occasional annoyance, she was chirpy, and bubbly, and full of the joys of spring, summer and any other season that happened to be around. Mary Margaret saw no wrong in anything, or anyone, even if they had committed the most heinous of acts, she would see their good side. Serial killers? _Maybe they had no other way out of the situation they were in._ Thieves? _How do we not know they are stealing to feed themselves?_ New York can be -25 in Winter? _Think of all the cute outfits you can match with scarves and hats!_ Everything.

Mary Margaret taught ten year olds. They were as sickeningly sweet as their teacher, full of hope and enthusiasm with every class, and took their elation out into the world after each lesson. Moulding the future was something Mary Margaret, or “Snow” as Emma had begun calling her, was her calling. Emma wasn't sure if “Snow” knew she was mocking her with the nickname, but Mary Margaret was a fan of _Disney_ and fairytales, so with her sweetness and nice, Emma saw it only apt to nickname her after the princess. All she needed was a song and a bluebird perched on her fingertip and she would be the real life Snow White.

In retaliation, Snow had coined the nickname Swan for Emma. It was simply her surname, but it lended itself to the perfect hero duo style nickname for them both. Snow and Swan. Swan and Snow. Emma didn't mind, as long as no one else called her that. She had picked her surname herself between foster homes, skipping between states with Snow and entering a whole new lost child system. They had no paperwork, nothing to say who they were, and Emma and Mary Margaret had picked their own surnames based on their favourite books.

Obviously, Snow White led Mary Margaret to hers, but she wanted an exotic twist on it and a kindly old gentleman in a local library had once told her that _Blanchard_ had meant White. Or more specifically, “Bordering on white” which suited the young runaway with the angelic smile but a temper like fire. When she was angry, to make matters even more hilarious for Emma, Mary Margaret's cheek flushed the most powdery shade of crimson and with her short, black pixie style haircut, she looked the spitting image of the novelization of her nickname sake.

Emma's favourite story was _The Ugly Duckling_. She had surprisingly runaway once and was found by one of the older boys from the same foster home. Rather than turn her in, August Booth had helped her find herself. Emma had been tearing into the pages of a book of fairytales, its cover faded from years of wear and loving caress, which only saddened the act further as she tossed page after page into a nearby fire. Minneapolis was freezing, and so Emma was sacrificing her possessions to the flames in order to keep warm. August had urged her not to burn this story, insisting it was about a duckling that turned into a swan. Emma had countered with how the duckling had always been a swan and August had smiled, confirming what she had already realised. Emma was a duckling and if she wished it hard enough, believed it harder than anything she had ever in her life, she would become the swan. That night, Emma had found the nearest police station and told them her name was Emma Swan.

Emma was now a barista. A common misconception was that she sat at the head of a judiciary bench and dished out punishments and ruling. Emma's reply was all too often a sigh, and a roll of her eyes. In reality, Emma had discovered that most of the time, people who drank coffee had absolutely no idea who was making it. She wasn't a waitress. She wasn't bar staff. She wasn't a cook, cleaner or a maid. Emma was a barista, and she was a good one.

Emma had tried many jobs until she found the art of making coffee. It had never been in her mind or even thought about until she had lost her previous job and needed something to pay her half of the bills. The ever helpful Snow had seen her friend depressed at the thought of having to rely on her donations until she could find another job and had circled some nearby in the local paper. Emma had scanned the slightly blurred black and white lettering with a lop sided, screwed up expression and with a shrug of her shoulders had gone for the position, passing the interview with flying colours.

Surprisingly, Emma had turned out to be a natural. She had drank coffee most of her adult life, but had never stopped to think about what went into hand crafting the perfect cup, something Emma had discovered many people also neglected. Human nature was, more often than not, something that left a lot of things to be desired. There were several kinds of coffee drinkers in the world, and after three years, Emma knew them all.

You had the Big Boss. Normally dressed in a crisp suit, except on casual Friday, the Big Boss would order a whole round of straight, black Americanos for his team. He would always order the smallest, cheapest size of the cheapest drink and insist on a VAT receipt so he could claim the expense back. In all, he seemed like a good guy, but he wasn't the boss for nothing. He would always be polite but refuse help as he awkwardly carried he briefcase and the five or six precariously stacked, boiling hot beverages from the store by himself, declining the offer of an opened door by anyone.

Then you had the Mid-Levels. Often latte drinking management, Emma could split these again into two sub groups. One, the Smiley Faces, were a pleasure. They were nice to Emma, and she enjoyed chatting with them whilst she steamed their milk, prepared their coffee shots and asked them about their weekend. They would tell her about their families, their work and there would often be the long running joke about how Emma was convinced they needed a secretary-come-barista in their office. The opposite group, the Ignorants, wouldn't hang up their cell phones, or disconnect themselves from another mobile device in order to give their order. And when they did, if was always with a tone of frustration and a glare of distaste.

Another of Emma's favourite type of customer was The Olds. Retired people drank an obscene amount of coffee, and Emma always loved hearing their stories. People were so fascinating, especially if they had lived long enough to experience everything life could throw at them. And they often had the most unbelievably awesome careers before retirement, making them twice as exciting to chat to. The men were a charming mix of modern cheekiness and old fashioned chivalry that made even the most hardened baristas smile. The ladies were often alone, outliving their husbands, and so came for the company. The Olds made up a considerable part of coffee drinkers and they were the favourite part of Emma's day.

Oddly, school age children made up another large part of the customer base, but Emma only really saw them once or twice a week. They often used the coffee shop as a hub for revision and study, sitting in groups of two or three, their dog eared notepads and textbooks spread out around them. They were the types of customers who would buy one thing and sit in all day, which Emma did not mind at all. They were often the quiet kids, the ones nobody would look at, and sadly the ones nobody would miss if they were to disappear. They reminded Emma of herself and Snow, so just as Snow loved her kids, Emma loved hers.  
Whoever was ordering, Emma was sure to either enjoy their company or not. Very rarely did Emma ever change her opinion on someone based on their first encounter. She also had a built in ability to know if somebody was lying to her, her superpower as it was known to her friends. It made for some uncomfortable situations for other people, caught in a lie they thought they had the advantage of using, often leaving embarrassed. Emma didn't waiver one bit at outing a liar and she had quite the reputation for it. Snow had never lied to Emma because she had learned early on in their relationship that it was futile. Emma always knew if she even tried the smallest of lies, and so amongst other things, Emma and Snow never played cards.

When Mary Margaret had been offered the chance to teach in a school in a Manhattan school, Emma had searched every advertisement she could find for the local area where somebody might have need of her talents. Leaving her job was something Emma never liked doing, but it was time for a change, and New York was calling their names. They were ready for a fresh start, both of them stuck between being in love with their jobs and hating where they lived. Foster kids never liked to stay in place for too long, and the old habits had followed Mary Margaret and Emma their whole lives. As Snow already had her job waiting, one which she had accepted over the telephone with as much gusto as she did anything in her life, Emma had once again been reduced to trawling the job listings whilst Snow combed the listings for renters.

Without even looking, they had found an apartment and Emma had found a new job. Everything they owned was packed up into previously labelled boxes that they had used and reused for many moves. The messy scrawl on the side of some of the brown boxes was Emma's, her handwriting matching her disjointed outlook on life. Her glass was always half empty. Mary Margaret's script type loops and swirls decorated the sides of her boxes, the glass always half full in her world of optimism.

Packing them into the back of the movers truck, Mary Margaret and Emma took one final look at their previous home from the pavement before sinking down into the tattered and worn leather seats of Emma's Yellow bug. It had chipped paintwork, was several different shades of yellow, none of which were its original manufactured colour code, and tiny flecks of rust littered its wheel arches. The car had seen better days, but it was reliable to a fault and had been with them since Emma could drive.

“You ready, Snow?” Emma looked over to her friend, the huge grin across Mary Margaret's face was her answer, but still her friend nodded.

“This is so exciting!” Snow squeaked, shaking a little with anticipation and clasping her hands together in her lap. The bug rocked from side to side in its stationary state when she bounced in the front seat.

“You say that every time we move,” Emma rolled her eyes and let out a laugh. She leaned forward, pushing the smooth edged key of the bug into the ignition and turning it with a crooked twist. The engine sparked to life, ticking over with a throaty grunt and a hint of a misfire.

“Well, it is!” Snow declared defensively. “We are going on an adventure!” She squirmed in her seat and reached behind her for the familiar metal edge of the seat belt. Snow pulled it around herself and clipped it into place, pulling it tighter against her body and shuffling her feet across the carpet in the foot space. Her boots caught on the rough fabric of decades worn carpet fibres and her hands found the frayed edge of the seat where she held her eagerly.

“To New York?” Emma's brow knitted into a frown as she started the car's journey to the Big Apple. “We've been to New York before,” she chastised.

Mary Margaret looked over to Emma from her seat with her signature smile of sugary sweetness and love. “Everything is an adventure when it is new,” she beamed. “You just have to believe.”

Emma let out a snort as she laughed, unable to hide her pessimistic view anymore. For weeks – no months – Snow had been hounding Emma to find a man. To believe she would find a man. And for an equally insane amount of time, Emma had been telling her friend that she was not looking for a relationship. Emma had been in love once. Neal Cassidy. Tall, broad shouldered and brooding, he had come into Emma's trouble life at exactly the right time. In fact, it was whilst stealing the very car they were now sitting in, that she had met him, mistaken him for the car's owner and only then realised that she had been stealing a stolen car. From then on, under the careful watch and silent judgement of Snow, love had flourished.

Snow had never been a fan of Neal Cassidy. He was a rogue, a scoundrel and Emma was far too good for him. In her opinion, Emma could have done much better, but at seventeen, Emma knew best and so all Snow could do was be there for Emma when things fell apart. And they had, less than a year later, when Neal left her with nothing but empty promises and the keys to the yellow bug. Mary Margaret had often thought of it as a cheap apology and Neal's way of offing stolen goods at the same time. His reasons for leaving were poor and selfish, and Emma had broken into a million pieces at his betrayal, only to have rebuilt the walls around her heart twice as high and twice as impenetrable.

“Don't scoff,” Snow pointed a gloved finger in Emma's direction. “It's been long enough. I've watched you mourn that...” She paused. Mary Margaret was never once for swearing.

“Bastard?” Emma offered with a smirk. Mary Margaret blushed and quickly shook her head, her purple woollen hat flopping from side to side atop her head.

“You deserve to find someone who makes you happy,” Snow smiled weakly. “If you let them in that is.”

“And what about you?” Emma's quickly turned the point of the conversation back on her friend. She was not in the mood to talk about her defence system. “Don't you deserve to run away to New york, the city of dreams, and find your Prince Charming?”

Snow wrinkled her nose with a slight blush. “I'll find him one day,” she smiled confidently. “Or he'll find me. And besides,” she shrugged. “We are not running away from anything this time. We are running towards something.”

Snow was right and Emma just smiled in agreement. The barely working heat flushed noisily from the dashboard vents, whipping Emma's lightly curled blonde locked over her shoulder as she drove. New York was their destination. It wasn't too far from where they lived now, so they could still see all of the friends that they had made, but they were essentially saying goodbye to everything they had spent the last six years building. As they followed the smaller than average movers truck, Emma couldn't help but wonder if they really hadn't built much at all.

As they approached the city limits, they both stared out of the dusted windows in awe. It wasn't exactly like in the movies, but it was close. The traffic had become heavier, slowing to a steady crawl and the concentration of yellow cabs had increased. There were barely any other cars on the road other than them and Emma mused for a second that if making coffee didn't work out, then she could be New York's first yellow bug cab driver.

They quickly found their destination. Wooster street was like every other street in Manhattan. The smooth, grey concrete paving gave way periodically to sewer grates which released languid puffs of steams from the second city below. The people moved along the paths much faster than the cars travelled in the road, and Emma noted how each and every building was different. Some were modern, huge and smooth looking, accented along a corner or a window ledge by a different colour brickwork. The apartment complex Mary Margaret had found them was the opposite. It wasn't beyond repair, or dishevelled, but it was older than he building surrounding it.

“Well this is nice,” Mary Margaret announced as she stepped from the car curbside. She closed the door with a creak and a dull thud, straightening herself up and smoothing over the creasing in her figure tight white coat with her gloved hands. Emma exited her side of the car and looked up at the building in front of her with a twisted smile.

“It's very you,” she remarked with a laugh. The building was artistic, creatively built no doubt with comfort in mind. Emma noticed the window ledges to most of the apartments held some sort of window box filled with flowers or herbs, a sure sign that there was no green space nearby for such things. Mary Margaret shot her a look, her mouth hanging open a little.

“Are you calling me old?” She teased.

“You are old,” Emma winked at her, pushing her own door closed and locking the car quickly. “Older than me anyway.”

“That's if you haven't lied about your age all this time,” Snow rolled her shoulders. “I mean, you know how these foster kids can be with remembering details.”

Emma laughed and it was genuine and hearty. Snow could always make her laugh like that, something no one else had been able to do, and she was right. Growing up they had both neglected many truths about their lives to many of their foster parents and Snow liked to tease her about it sometimes. “Which one is ours?” Emma asked, her breath leaving her mouth in a puff of condensation as she looked up at the front of the building. New york was cold and Emma rubbed her bare hands together for warmth.

“Um...89?” Snow half announced, half asked herself as she fished in her pocket for the details of their new home. “Yes,” she nodded, eyeing the scrap of paper in her hand, the writing scribbled across it clearly her rounded scrawl. “89 Wooster Street, New York, NY, 10012. Apartment 407.”

“So...” Emma prompted, moving around the front of the bug to join her friend on the pavement. Few people paid them any attention as they whizzed passed, each going about their daily activities without a care in the world for their so called adventure. Emma let her head tilt back and she took in the height of the building again. Somehow it looked even taller from this side of the car, and she noticed one single empty window box on the fourth floor. “...That one?” Emma asked with a point.

Mary Margaret followed Emma's point with her gaze and a grin spread over her slightly blue lips. She pulled her glove from one hand and pushed it back into her pocket, finally pulling a key free. Snow dangled it in front of Emma, wiggling it excitedly. “Let's go and find out!”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one in which Snow White meets her Prince Charming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forever grateful for [@WelpThisIsHappening](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WelpThisIsHappening/pseuds/WelpThisIsHappening) for giving this a look over. Not sure you realise what you have agreed too :p

Emma stood in the middle of the expansive apartment and looked around her. The sun spilled through the closed window, spreading its warmth across the off white textured wall opposite. It was interrupted momentarily by the removal men who were shifting around boxes of varying sizes but Emma felt the warmth on her face and smiled to herself. Mary Margaret had picked a good one this time.

The apartment was for two people, the central living area opening out in a large T-shape to two separate bedroom areas. Centrally there was bare brickwork, haphazardly washed over with white paint, and the wooden floor glowed a burnt orange under the glow of the sun. The theme flowed throughout the apartment as Emma walked around, the heels of her boots creating a dull echo that bounced off the walls. The kitchenette area appeared around the corner and included a smattering of appliances. The aged cream coloured refrigerator sat in the corner emitting a low hum because the landlord had been blessed with the foresight to turn it on for them.

Emma's tour took her back into the living area at which point she noticed the sun had crept along the only papered wall in the entire place. Light scuff marks on the floor and an oddly shaped fade mark on the textured paper meant whoever had lived here before had kept their couch there, and Emma pointed at the area as the movers walked through the front door with theirs. The space in the lounge was becoming increasingly smaller, boxes and furniture piling higher and higher as they were moved in from the street below. Emma had been right; the apartment was on the fourth floor and each time she saw one of the burly moving guys, she noted the increasing redness of his cheeks that wasn't just from the cold outside.

“Well?” Mary Margaret appeared beside her, one of the lighter boxes in her arms. “Do you like it?” She prodded, tilting the box forward and noticing it was one of Emma's based on the scrawny handwriting.

Emma nodded. “I do,” she smiled, throwing her arm around her friend. “Thank you for finding us a home so I could find a job,” she leaned her head sideways and it rested awkwardly on Snow's.

“You're welcome. Oh!” Snow jolted Emma from her shoulder and perched the box onto of a nearby table the movers had already moved in. She rushed to the window and all but pressed her face to the glass, her eyes searching all around through the gritty specks of street dust that had stuck to the pane. “We have a great view,” she concluded, looking back over her shoulder at Emma. “Imagine what this will look like at night!”

Emma smiled at Snow's enthusiasm. She wasn't sure how she always managed to be so happy about everything, considering they had been through the same life experiences. Emma concluded it was why they got on so well. They were the perfect combination of hopeful and realistic and they fed off of each other's moods. Sometimes Emma thought that she could remain single for the rest of her life as long as she was friends with the woman before, but then she felt selfish for considering Snow's man-less future with her.

“Have you seen the bedrooms?” Mary Margaret interrupted her daydream, quickly heading through the narrowed doorway from the kitchen.

There were three doors in the hall, two on one side and one on the other. Emma gripped at the round, brass handle of the one to the left and pushed it open to peer inside. Snow peaked over her shoulder, noticing that they had discovered the bathroom complete with an over tub shower and single toilet and sink. The room had no windows, was tiled ceiling to floor with plain white tiles and an extractor sat in the middle of the room. The shiny chrome taps were old fashioned but they matched the feel of the rest of the apartment.

“Bathroom,” Emma said quickly, closing the door behind her as she shuffled backward.

Both women turned and looked at two identical doors that were almost lost in the whitewashed brickwork walls. Snow made a move to the first door but Emma stopped her with a strong arm. “How about we pick without seeing them first?” Emma quirked her eyebrow and smirked sideways. “Rock, paper, scissors?” Since they were kids, Emma and Mary Margaret had settled many an argument or difficult life choice by the most childish means.

“Why not,” Snow chirped, pulling the purple woolen gloves that matched her hat from her hands and stuffing them into the stiff pockets of her coat. “Best of three, winner gets first pick,” she prepared her hands, flexing her fingers dramatically.

Emma had her own routine and shook her arms loosely from her elbows to her fingers. The leather of her red jacket creaked at the corners of her elbows and the whole movement made her hair bounce. “No takey backy,” Emma confirmed another rule of their game.

“No takey backy,” Snow balled her fist and pounded in into the flattened surface of her other hand, palm side up in front of her body. Emma mirrored her actions and they met each others gaze with a serious glare.

“On three...” Emma met Snow's single nod with one of her own. “One, Two, Three!”

Both women pounded their fists into their palms, the dull smack of skin on skin echoing in the empty apartment a little less than Emma's boots now that there were more boxes to absorb the sounds. On the count of three, they both held up their hands with their selected gestures. Emma had kept her fist balled and Snow had laid her hand flat.

“Ha!” Snow exclaimed, covering her flattened hand over Emma's with a gleeful chuckle. “Paper beats rock!” she wiggled her shoulders triumphantly and grinned from ear to ear. Emma rolled her eyes and retracted her hand with a pout.

“Lucky start,” Emma shrugged casually, resetting her fist into its balled position on her palm. “One, Two Three!”

Mary Margaret's entire body tensed up as she pounded her fist into her palm, her fingernails digging into the palm of her hand roughly. She was never good at losing. As sweet and infantile as she could be, Emma had always known Snow had a dark streak and nothing made it rear its ugly head like a bit of competition. However tiny. On the count of three for the second time, Emma kept her hand balled once more and a smirk crept across her lips when Snow forced her two fingers into the sideways v-shape of scissors.

“Rock beats scissors,” Emma said victoriously, lightly punching her knuckles into Snow's hand. Snow took a deep breath and pouted angrily, her lips turning white on her face.

“Okay,” Snow announced tensely, running her hands over her face to push away some of the non-visible stress that she felt on her skin.

“Nervous, Snow?” Emma laughed, wiggling her fingers at her friend and then rubbing her hands together. Emma looked between the two doors and arched a brow. “I bet door one has a fantastic view.”

“Shut up, Swan,” Mary Margaret barked low and Emma laughed again. “Let's do this. One, Two, Three!”

Both women balled their fists for a final time and slammed their curled fingers into the open palm of their other hand. Snow watched Emma's hands intently, her eyes flickering up to meet Emma's for a small sign of which direction her friend was going to go with this game. Emma just gave her a friend a sideways grin, enjoying the way losing the lead had made her friend so uncomfortable. On the third count, for the final time, Emma let her fingers spring into scissors whilst adamant her friend would select rock for a third time, Snow laid her hand flat for paper.

Snow's face twisted up into silent expletives she would never mutter and she let out a frustrated growl. Emma simply chopped her fingers against the side of Snow's pretending to cut at the skin with her finger scissors. “You win,” Mary Margaret forced a smile.

“I always win,” Emma chided with a swagger. “You're predictable, Snow,” Emma reached for door number two and let her fingers curl around the brass door knob that matched the bathroom one. Snow looked at her surprised.

“I thought you wanted door number one?” She asked quickly, grabbing the handle in a mirror image of Emma.

“I didn't say that,” Emma frowned.

“You knew I did. And I'd lose and you played anyway,” Snow said a little shocked but humbled.

“I didn't say that,” Emma repeated playfully, finally pushing her door open and letting the afternoon sun bathe her entire body. Giving her friend a grin, Emma stepped inside.

The floor was more worn in this room, tiny cracks visible in the bare wood that creaked slightly under the pressure of Emma's steps. The room was bare, but Emma saw so much potential, imagining instantly where all of her furniture would go. Emma noted the high ceiling, a feature she absolutely loved about the whole apartment, complete with a long finned fan that hung stationary from the white ceiling. The brickwork theme ran into this room too, the hand painted white wash covering three walls and the fourth a solid coloured white wall. Emma decided she would put her bed against this wall.

The window was huge, taller rather than wide, and was a sash design. Emma moved over to it, and slid the lock mechanism, pulling on the bottom of the frame and lifting it open. At the same time, the musty smell of the room escaped and the sounds of the city below washed through the window. The honk of a horn caught her attention and Emma leaned out of the window, noting her window was at the side of the building and the dazzling sunlight was unobscured by any other buildings. Squinting against the sun, she let the wind and cool air flow over her face and whip at her hair before she caught sight of Mary Margaret doing the exact same thing along the building.

“This is perfect,” Snow said, leaning her weight down on her elbows and watching the street below. “I'm so excited for us to be here.”

“Me too,” Emma smiled, perching on the window ledge by lifting one leg and resting her behind to the cool frame. “Our New York adventure,” She let her head fall back against the frame and looked out into the dropping sunset.

“I told you it was an adventure,” Snow uttered matter of factly.

  
The next few days were a blur. Snow didn't start her new job for another week, so it gave her plenty of time to unpack her things and organize their new home. Emma, on the other hand, had to attend some training for her new job but that wasn't until the next day. Deciding to wait a few days in order to go shopping, they had taken the more adult and executive decision of ordering take out. Emma didn't mind, except that Snow preferred Chinese and she preferred Mexican, specifically tacos.

Tonight, Snow had won, and with a shrill buzz, their door bell had sounded the arrival of their meal. “I'll get it!” She called, whizzing through from the kitchen and grabbing her cash from the shabby chic style side table they had by the front door. It was normally for landline telephones, but because modern society dictated very few people had them anymore, Snow had insisted it was for door keys, wallets and cell phones.

Emma, sitting crossed legged on the couch, almost missed Hurricane Snow as she ran to the door in a five foot six inch blur. Emma blinked quickly, a small laugh escaping her lips as she realised Snow was feeling exactly the same as she was in that moment in time. Starving. They had spent all day organizing the kitchen but to add insult to their injuries, there was no actual food in the kitchen, and now they were famished.

“Leave the delivery guy his arm,” Emma teased with a chuckle.

Snow pressed herself flat against the warm wooden door and peered through the telescopic spy hole. Emma heard her gasp, sucking in all her breath and spinning around to face her friend with a wide eyed grin. Emma cocked her head, puzzled.

“What is it?” She whispered, her own eyes widening as she moved to push herself from the couch at the slightest hint of scandal. Snow bit her bottom lip and balled her fists, scrunching her fingers into the palms of her hands. Her cheeks began to flush the trademark rosy pink and she gulped. “What?” Emma prompted again, a little more forceful than before as she barged Snow out of the way and pressed her face to the spy hole with one eye closed.

In the middle of a fishbowl shaped circle was the delivery guy, except he looked anything but the stereotypical vision of someone who delivered food. Even though he was distorted by the lens, Emma could tell he was good looking. He was tall, his mousy brown hair lightly curled naturally but styled into a short, modern style and he was dressed a little too well for delivery food. He had dark blue khaki pants on, a slightly lighter blue shirt which he had unbuttoned exposing a grey t shirt underneath. His jacket was tan moleskin and he looked far too respectable for a take out delivery guy.

“Take out!” he called out into the hall, fishing into his pocket and pulling out a receipt, the address of their apartment clearly visible at the bottom.

“Oh my god!” Emma mouthed silently.

“I know!” Snow mouthed back, innocently wide eyed.

“Open the door,” Emma mouthed to Snow, pulling herself from the lens and waving her hands at the handle.

Snow shook her head quickly and blushed harder, pushing the cash into Emma's hand. The rubbery bills crumpled in on themselves and Emma flattened her palms in an attempt to show Snow she wasn't going to take them. Emma frowned silently, pushing the cash back at her friend who she swore had begun to sweat a little.

“Just coming!” Emma chimed, impersonating the syrupy sound of Mary Margaret's voice. Snow's eyes nearly bulged from her head and her mouth gaped open, shocked at her friend's poor excuse for an impression. Emma nodded her head towards the door a bit more forcefully, crossing her arms over her chest. Snow slumped her shoulders, a voiceless plea that Emma ignored. She reached for the door handle, twisting it quickly and pulling the door open, hiding behind the now open wooden mass and the wall behind it.

Snow had no time to react and she held her breath as the delivery guy looked up from the receipt in his hand and stumbled over his words.

“Um...” he began, his own expression deadpan embarrassed. His mouth went dry and he couldn't tear his eyes away from the cherub cheeked, black haired beauty in front of him. He finally tore his eyes from Snow's to look at the piece of paper in his hand, its edge crinkled where he was gripping it so tightly. He blinked hard, trying to focus his eyes. “Mary Margaret?” His voice was a quiver and it caught in the back of his throat as he looked up to her again.

Her name on his lips was enough to make Mary Margaret's smile spread wider across her face. She grinned a toothy, open mouth grin at him, her eyes creasing at the corners and her heart skipping in her chest. “That's me,” she breathed, fiddling with the waxy bills in her hands.

“Wow...That's a beautiful name,” he commented idly, forgetting for a second that he might have over stepped a line when his mouth beat his brain to his thought process. Instantly he blushed and looked away quickly, creasing his brow as he sought out the total on the receipt.

Snow just smiled wider and she blushed as she looked sideways to Emma who peaked out from behind the door so that only she could see her. She grinned a fake, forced smile and held up two thumbs at her friend followed quickly by the mimicry for calming one's self with deep breaths and steady hands. Snow looked back to the delivery guy, feeling like she had waited forever for him to find the total and look back to her with his heavenly blue eyes.

“You know what?” He started, unable to focus clearly on the paper in his hand. “It's on me,” he lifted his head to her finally, his sky blue eyes glinting in the dimly lit hallway. He smiled sweetly, his pink lips peaking at the corners as he held out the bag full of take out.

“Oh no, I insist on paying,” Snow blushed even harder and awkwardly reached out her clasped hands full of crinkled bills and small change.

“No, really,” he wiggled the bag at Snow, urging her to take in with a raised brow. “I insist on buying you dinner. I mean...” his cheeks flushed crimson, heat prickling up his neck as the words left his mouth. Snow offered him a smile.

Emma peaked through the crack in the door frame, watching the whole pathetic display of awkward flirting and shook her head a little. She buried her face in her palm, stifling a giggle.

“Do you mean...” Snow began.

“I mean...If you want to...” He stuttered over her.

“I want to,” Snow said eagerly.

“I'm David,” he said finally, his entire body relaxing as he said his name, held out his hand and watched Snow's smile widened on her face.

“Hi David,” she breathed, her shoulders relaxing as she mirrored his demeanor. Snow took his hand, her tiny fingers getting lost in the huge grip of his long fingers. She shook up and down once, never letting her eyes fall from his as she did so, or her smile drift even an inch from her face. “Nice to meet you.”

Behind the door, Emma spied Snow's notepad and pen sitting abandoned on the non-telephone table in front of her. Emma quickly leaned forward, scribbling Snow's cell phone number onto the luminous square of paper before tearing it from the pad silently.

David was so busy smiling at the cutest woman he had ever seen that he almost missed the bright pink, love heart shaped paper note as it fell through the crack in the door to his right. At the same time, David and Snow looked to the floor. David bent down and plucked the love heart shaped note from the floor, holding it in between his fingers and rubbing the paper lovingly. Snow lost her smile and quickly grabbed for the cooling take out bag. “Text me,” she said quickly, rushing back into the apartment and pushing the door closed behind her with a thud.

“Oh my god,” Emma couldn't hold in her giggle any longer and Mary Margaret show her a wide eyed glare from her position against the back of the door. “What?” Emma shrugged innocently.

“I had it under control,” Snow pouted, spinning her body around on the door and peering back through the peep hole lens. David was gone, and Snow felt a wave of panic.

“Yeah, sure you did,” Emma rolled her eyes, grabbing the take out from Snow's hand and heading towards the couch.

“I was about to give him my number! I was!” Snow contested, falling into line behind Emma as she skipped to the couch too.

“Yeah, I saw that,” Emma teased, crossing a leg under herself as she fell back into the enveloping cushion of the couch. “Honestly,” Emma smirked, reaching into the bag to pull out a carton of Chinese and handing the steaming white box to Snow who has fallen into the seat beside her. “It was painful.”

“Not all of us are blessed with confidence,” Snow took the carton and fished around in the bag for a pair of disposable chop sticks. Pulling them free from their plastic packaging, she offered them to Emma and reached into the bag for another pair.

Emma took the chopsticks and popped open her carton on noodles, letting the aroma of soy sauce and chicken waft into her nostrils. She jabbed her chopsticks into the twisted, golden noodles and pulled them from the box with minimal effort. “You're welcome,” she winked, quirking a brow and stuffing the slightly dripping noodle pile into her mouth.

Snow smiled at her, the image of David's face still clear in her mind. He was handsome, polite and had come to her. Emma was also right; she would have just stared at him contently all evening if she could have. It seemed David was as bumbling as she was when it came to flirting, which she found endearing and made her want to know even more than just his name.

“Besides,” Emma interrupted her thought, slurring her words through a mouthful of food. “The way he was looking at you? Looks like Prince Charming has found his Snow white.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one in which we meet Killian Jones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [@WelpThisIsHappening](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WelpThisIsHappening/pseuds/WelpThisIsHappening) for being my beta reader! And for listening to me rave about more ideas i have. and for liking my fanart <3
> 
> I will also post updates to tumblr, so if you wanted to follow me there, i am @artistic-writer.

A short walk from their apartment building was a quaint little diner called _Granny's_ and Emma had successfully passed the first stage of the interview process. Being from out of town the owners had decided to give her a trail shift based on her experience and so Emma had headed over there as soon as she could.

The outside of the diner was like any other house on the street. Emma suspected that at one stage _Granny's_ had in fact been somebody's home, but had since been converted. Outside, enclosed from the street behind some forest green fencing, was the patio area for outdoor dining. Three huge cream canvas umbrellas shielded the tables below them from the sunlight and each metal table was peppered with home made jar candle lights. There were potted plants around the courtyard and a well established grape vine had entwined itself over the wooden rafters of the roof.

It was magical. Emma stood for a moment, taking in the majesty of the place from the street. It was like something out of a storybook, and was the epitome of homely. Emma loved it already, so with a confident stride she scaled the three low steps, grabbing the thin, metal handrail and pulling herself up towards the door. The door was mainly glass, its panelled framework painted with white that had begun to curl and chip from the wood over time, and with an outstretched hand Emma wrapped her fingers around the long, oxidised brass handle and pulled the door.

The tinkle of a bell alerted the entire diner to her presence and Emma suddenly felt self conscious when five pairs of eyes turned to look a her. Emma gulped hard, sucking a breath and fiddling with the sleeves of her red leather jacket, tugging them down in an attempt to cover her hands some more.

The dinner was smaller than she expected with three small, round edged metal tables sitting in a line through the center of the room. To Emma's left and right, inside the bay window spaces, were two similar style tables that seated groups of four. To the left side of the restaurant were three tanned leatherette booths, each with a low hanging dish style downlighter above more of the metal round edged tables. To the right was the bar area, a high topped counter where people could sit on one of the five rounded barstools, each one chrome legged with a seat that matched the colour and fabric of the booth seats.

In the far right corner of the diner was a dated but still functioning TV, mounted high on the back wall, its silent images flickering away unnoticed and its sub titles rolling across the screen. Emma noticed a waitress breeze from the back room, the mint green door with a porthole window swinging shut behind her with a creak and continuing the swing on its hinges until it came to a stop. The waitress was tall, her long black hair hanging over her shoulders that were covered by a plain white t-shirt. As she turned, placing the plates on the table beside her with a smile Emma noticed her shorts, far too short for winter, that were the same shade of red as the lipstick across her lips.

Every wall in _Granny's_ was covered in the same wallpaper. It was a light grey background with rows and rows of pine trees, almost like a scene from Christmas, and Emma wondered why. The whole place was a nostalgic mix of modern and traditional fifties diner styling, accented by the jukebox hidden through a mint green archway out the back of the main floor, towards the rest rooms. Above the center of the serving bar was a clock, its plain white face and black hands illuminated by a neon ring of blue that surrounded them. Emma couldn't tell if she was hearing the buzz from it or the open sign flashing out of the corner of her eye, hanging half way down the window and alerting the outside world to the status of the diner.

“Hi,” The perky waitress approached Emma with a broad smile. She tucked her pencil and order pad into the front pocket of her white apron, its long straps wrapped around her thin body twice before being tied in a bow behind her back. “You must be Emma,” she beamed, extending her long arm out to shake Emma's hand.

“Yeah, Emma Swan,” Emma took the waitress's hand in hers, noting her matching red nail polish immaculately covering each of her serviceable length nails. Emma forced a smile but felt her cheeks redden under the gaze of more diners.

“I'm Ruby,” she beamed, shaking Emma's hand up and down eagerly. “You're here for the trial, right?”

Ruby Lucas was taller and thinner than Emma. Her long black hair was rough to look at, almost wirey and yet shiny at the same time, highlighted with the fainted traces of blood red hair dye. Her skin seemed pale, but Emma wasn't sure if it was just her make up or how vibrant her lipstick was. Ruby seemed to, as her name suggested, have an affinity with the colour red. Her hair, her lipstick, her nails even her shorts were all the same colour and Emma would have certainly said that she was attractive. Her eyes were kind, and a perfect shade of sea green that popped out against her pale skin.

“I am,” Emma confirmed, smoothing her hands over the fabric of her pants nervously. It didn't help that all but one customer had stopped looking at her. “I'm a little nervous,” Emma admitted quickly, falling into step behind Ruby as she headed towards the back door.

“Oh honey, don't be nervous,” Ruby laid a hand to Emma's shoulder and squeezed past a few customers. “You'll do great,” she smiled, pushing against the handle-less door and motioning Emma through.

After Emma had discarded her jacket, thankful to have the foresight to wear a plain white t shirt similar to Ruby's, she took the apron Ruby had handed her and tied it around her waist. “Now, you'll just be making coffee and chatting to the customers,” Ruby told her as Emma bunched her blonde locks into a messy ponytail. “I've heard a lot about your coffee,” Ruby smiled.

“From who?” Emma asked suspiciously. Never quick to judge, Emma was suddenly wondering how everyone knew so much about her without ever having met her. Emma fished inside the pocket, checking to make sure her pencil had a point before tucking it behind her ear. It was an old habit and one Emma didn't think she would ever break.

“The boss,” Ruby shrugged as if Emma should have known. “Didn't you talk to him on the phone?”

Emma didn't remember talking to a man. In fact, she was a little uncomfortable with the owner being a man, now that she had seen what Ruby was wearing. Emma's eyes flicked up and down Ruby's bare legs, smooth as silk but still as pale as the rest of her skin, and wondered if the boss made all of his employ dress the same. Emma wasn't objectifying herself for the sake of some grimy, slime ball diner owner to leer at for his own pleasure.

“Don't worry,” Ruby laughed as if reading her mind. “There is no dress code. This is just me,” She waved a hand through the air towards herself as she turned to head back to the bar area. Ruby was confident beyond anyone Emma had ever known, which wasn't a bad thing in the slightest. It just made Emma seem not as confident as she knew she actually was.

Ruby stepped from the back room, the mint green door which had a faded patch where people often pushed against it swinging closed in the gap behind them. Emma followed her diligently, her head held high and her blonde pony tail bobbing up and down as she did so. Ruby walked them behind the bar, showed Emma the coffee machine with a smile and then whizzed off to attend to a new potential diner who had just walked in. Emma let out a breath and nervously balled her hands in the pocket of her apron.

“You're new,” a man spat from beside her and Emma's neck snapped towards the voice. She offered him a smile, slightly forced, and took a step towards the counter top. She took in his appearance, hunched over and squat on the bar stool, with a dark green jacket on and a black beanie hat. Even sitting down, Emma could tell he was shorter than most people she had met, and an impressively even beard littering his jaw.

“Maybe,” Emma replied sweetly, her best customer service smile gracing her face. The man scoffed and looked back to his hot chocolate with a huff. He was a new kind of customer, the kind that Emma would no doubt get a lot of in a city as busy as New York.

“Leave the girl alone, Leroy,” another voice grabbed her attention and Emma whipped her head towards the middle of the bar. Another man, this time taller and no doubt another regular by the way he was perched so comfortably on the bar stool, lifted his near empty cup to his lips and gulped down the last remnant of his coffee. Leroy hunched up closer to his own cup, turning away slightly at the man's words.

“Mind your own business,” Leroy snapped, shooting the man a glare before wrapping his huge, bear like hands around the tiny white ceramic cup on the counter.

“Oh don't be so grumpy,” yet another voice turned Emma's attention to direction of the kitchen. It was familiar and seated behind a clear cake filled dome was another man, taller still and Emma recognised him as the dashingly handsome delivery guy from the night before. He offered Emma a grin and leaned forward on his elbows. “You'll have to excuse Leroy,” he began, licking his lips to moisten them. “He has no manners.”

Emma smiled back at him, looking over towards the door at where Leroy was sitting. “It's okay,” she caught his eye as he looked up to her. “I'm sure I'm a curiosity.”

“That you are,” The middle man piped in again, running a finger over the rim of his empty cup. The off white ceramic has a browning lip stain down one side and Emma wondered if he had his own cup in this diner, or if he had brought his own from home. The cup before him didn't match any of the others in the bar area which intrigued Emma no end.

“I'm sorry, where are my own manners,” Man number three called her attention away once more and she took a step towards that end of the bar. The three men were all seated with an identical stool empty between them and man number three jumped from his, pulled at the hem of his dark blue sweater and straightened himself up. “I'm David. David Nolan,” he offered her his hand.

Emma took it with a smile, giving it a single shake before pulling hers back to her chest. “Emma,” she said simply, giving him only her first name but already knowing his.

“Nice to meet you Emma,” David said hurriedly, flicking his wrist and checking his watch. “Shoot, I'm really sorry,” he apologised, stepping back and pushing the stool closer to the counter. Emma tried to suppress a smirk at the way he censored his language, much like Mary Margaret would have done. “I have to run back to work. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow?” he asked hopefully, his voice a little louder as he was stepping closer to the exit.

Emma laughed a little, her voice hitched and nervous. “I hope so,” she offered, not promising as David disappeared with a jingle of the bell above the door. She wondered what he did as an occupation during the day as it was clear to her that she had already discovered his second job delivering food to the weary and hungry in the evenings.

“Now why would you say that?” Emma’s attention fell back onto the middle man. His words were soft, with a tinge of mystery and Emma stepped closer to him. He was handsome, Emma couldn't deny, with an air of arrogance that she found quite endearing. If Emma had to guess, he was a Big Boss customer, but probably ran his own business and could afford to take an extended lunch break to talk to baristas.

“I'm only on a trial shift,” Emma said, swiping his cup from in front of him and twisting the tap on in front of her. He watched her contently as she washed up his mug, a smirk playing across his lips at her eagerness to impress. “Would you like another coffee?” Emma asked, holding his mug aloft and eager for him to reply with an answer that could show her skills.

“Aye,” The man all but breathed, leaning back slightly on his stool and stretching his arms out on the counter before him. Emma's eyes fell onto the marbled pattern of the counter top and tried not to stare at the fact that the middle man had in fact only one hand. His right hand stretched out his fingers over the cool surface and Emma heard the distinct sound of his many rings as they tapped the marble top. Where his other hand should have been was a carbon fibre prosthetic, stretched out atop the counter as if it belonged there as much as the other side.

“What happened?” Emma asked unashamedly. If foster kids were anything it was inquisitive and sometimes, without realising it, Emma's words ran away with her thoughts and she couldn't stop them. “I'm sorry. It's none of my business,” Emma retorted quickly, not giving the man chance to answer.

He laughed and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning forward on his elbows to watch her steam the milk for his coffee. “It's no bother,” he offered her an understanding smile and let the bluest eyes Emma had ever seen roam over her blushing features. Emma turned her attention back to watching the temperature of the milk rise, flicking off the steam wand quickly and wiping away the excess milk with a damp cloth.

“It was a sailing accident,” he told her, and when Emma didn't answer for a second he continued. “Damn hand got caught in the rigging, wind caught the sail and took it clean off,” he made a chopping motion with his other hand, slamming it karate chop style down on the counter next to his mechanical fingers.

Emma winced a little at his action. “Your accent,” she noted, pulling the paddle behind the coffee grinder and letting two shots of coffee fall into the waiting handle. “Where are you from?” she enquired, using the detached tamper to flatten and level the coffee before expertly twisting the handle into the head of the machine and pressing a water flow button. Ruby had said talk to the customers and Emma was going to do just that. She had already charmed David Nolan and caught the attention of Leroy. The Middle man was next.

“England,” He said simply, watching her work.

“And you can sail?” Emma pried, feeling his eyes on her with every move she made.

He nodded. “I learnt to sail in the Navy. I love the freedom of the open sea but I'm afraid I am a very boring person beyond that,” he chuckled as he watched the honey like coffee trickle from the handle into his mug.

“Oh don't say that,” Emma said charmingly with a smile. “In my experience, customers can be very interesting. They often surprise you when you least expect it.”

“Is that so?” The man titled his head to the side and a few strands of his otherwise immaculate hair spilled over his forehead.

“Absolutely,” Emma nodded quickly, banging the metallic jug gently on the counter beside the machine to coax out any remaining bubbles in the milk. “I once had a man tell me he was moving to Thailand to live with his online girlfriend because he didn't love his wife anymore,” Emma twisted her mouth into a sideways grin.

“And that was interesting why?” The man grinned, tapping his fingers against the counter as he intently stared into Emma's eyes. She wished he wasn't because he was affecting her in ways she hadn't felt in nearly five years, making it difficult to act professional.

“His girlfriend turned out to be a boyfriend but he was smitten anyway and asked me if I thought he should actually go through with it.” Emma rolled her eyes and blew out a breath.

The man laughed heartily. “What did you suggest he do?”

“If I remember rightly, it was at this exact moment another customer walked in and I practically dived on them,” Emma laughed as she shook her head. “I honestly couldn't make this up.”

“You sound like you have a way with customers,” The man commented when his laughing had stopped, his gaze still fixed firmly onto Emma. It was odd. She didn't feel uncomfortable around him like some of the Big Boss customers she had encountered and she found that she couldn't stop herself matching his smile. Emma often used a subtle mixture of flirting in her interactions with customers and he was probably going to be no exception.

“I like to make sure people are happy,” Emma beamed, swirling the milk in her jug and pouring the frothy milk into the cup with a gentle wiggle of the small metal jug. The milk arched around the top of the coffee crema and Emma watched it as she repositioned the jug to create a straight line, some sideways lines of white and then a single flick sent them all flowing together to finish her latte art. Emma picked up the mug, banging it against the counter allowing any remaining bubbles to pop before spinning around and placing it in front of the man.

“Of this I have no doubt,” he said smoothly, his voice seemingly even more seductive with his accent. His bionic hand reached out to encircle the mug with a slight electronic whirr and a smile played across his lips.

“Because you like sailing,” Emma said sweetly as she leaned on one elbow on the bar beside him, watching his smile grow wider at the sight of the sailing vessel latte art she had created in front of him.

“Very good, Swan,” The man arched his brow at her and Emma's features dropped. Her face went pale and for the first time she really took in the man's demeanour. He was about her height, thin with broad shoulders and obviously, a bionic hand. Aside from that, he was very easy on the eyes, his black hair swept back from his forehead except for a few loose strands that were still so eager to interrupt Emma's view of his beautiful face. He had long, full eyelashes that encircled his Mediterranean blue eyes and a perfect toothy grin to accompany his lightly stubbled jaw.

He was wearing mostly black, his long legs covered his black skin tight jeans that disappeared into a pair of heavy, black boots. He wore a a dark blue linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up the the elbows and the top three buttons popped open behind a black waistcoat to reveal a generous amount of delectable chest hair. The more she looked over him, the more Emma's throat became dry, and she wasn't sure if it was because he had called her Swan and she had liked it or because he was so devilishly handsome. Emma decided he would probably get most of her barista flirting whenever she saw him.

Sensing her unease, he cleared his throat and offered her his hand. “Killian Jones,” He beamed and when Emma took his hand, she was sure he burned her skin. Even though she flushed hot with heat, she felt the colour drain from her face.

“Killian Jones,” Emma held onto his hand, unable to let go. “As in, the owner of _Granny's_ Killian Jones?” She gulped hard again. He was the owner of the damn diner. Emma's heart pounded in her chest, her lungs burned from holding her breath too long and she was sure her mouth was hanging open slightly.

“Aye. At your service, love,” he grinned at her unease, quirking an eyebrow at her playfully as he held onto her hand, also reluctant to let go of the warmth of her milky skin. He kept eye contact the entire time, his blue hues burning an ice hole into Emma's soul. “Welcome aboard.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Snow have a little chat about things and then decide Friday nights are not just for Netflix!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [@WelpThisIsHappening](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WelpThisIsHappening/pseuds/WelpThisIsHappening) for being my beta reader! And for listening to me whine about chapter 6
> 
> Don't forget to follow me on tumblr @artistic-writer!

The two hour trial shift was the longest two hours of Emma's life. She had been absolutely fine until she had discovered the one customer who had paid her so much attention had done so because he was the boss. Her boss.

The afternoon was warm and Emma let the sun beat down against her skin, warming her already flushed cheeks as she pounded the pavement. New York was always busy, a bustling metropolis of people with too many agendas and not enough time and Emma bumped shoulders with more than one person on her way back to the apartment. Stuffing her hands into her pockets, Emma let her gaze fall to the pavement before her, watching white blobs of gum pass her vision with every step.

So many questions were running through her mind, and Emma couldn't take them. Her thought process was an absolute mess. How had she managed to get the job being so forward? How had she not ended her chances by mentioning the hand? Why was Leroy so grumpy? Why was the most beautiful man in the entire world her new boss? What did David actually do when he wasn't speechless over Snow? How had Killian come to own Granny's? It was more than a mess. It was a disaster.

Emma blew out a breath as she reached her apartment building, trying to shake off the thoughts in her messy mind. No doubt Snow would have a whole interrogation planned, but Emma didn't mind. Her overzealous friend was always eager, ready and waiting in teacher mode to fix any and all problems Emma might have had. Unfortunately, Emma wasn't sure she could fix the one she currently faced.

Emma had a crush on her boss.

Emma opted for the stairs, ignoring the tiny, wire caged elevator to the left of the lobby. She had walked home so a little further would do her just fine. That, and she figured it would be easier to delay Mary Margaret's barrage of questioning this way. There was some odd scuffling sound coming out of the apartment as Emma neared the door, her freshly cut key sliding into the mechanism effortlessly and turning in the lock. Emma pushed against the door, her chilly fingertips enjoying the warmth of the wood, but it stopped quickly and almost hit her in the face.

“What the...?” She tried to peer around the door but her head wouldn't fit through the gap. “Snow?” She called through the gap, frustration lacing her voice.

“Oh my goodness!” Snow called and Emma heard her bare feet pound against the wooden floor as she ran to the door. With a small groan she gripped the edge of the couch and slid it sideways allowing Emma to push the door open the rest of the way. “I'm so sorry,” she panted, smoothing her short black mop from her face and planting her hands on her hips. “Spring cleaning,” she beamed.

“In August?” Emma frowned, letting the door close behind her with a click and stuffing her keys back into her bag. She would undoubtedly forget them if she didn't stash them away now.

“Well, you know,” Snow huffed. “I'm just cleaning the apartment.”

Emma made a noise low in her throat and shot a look around the room. The amount of unpacked boxes had been reduced significantly, but Emma noticed the kitchen was still messily full of cleaning products and there would be no chance of using it for eating. A smile crept up on Emma's face as she let her heavy body fall back against the couch, the long, bulk furniture sliding backwards a little and bumping into the wall.

“How was the shift?” Snow moved to sit down beside her, poking Emma in the thigh. “You look a bit...”

“Stressed?” Emma offered, lifting her bag over her head and letting it fall to the floor beside her feet with a clink when her keys bumped against each other inside the darkness of the satchel style leather confines.

Snow frowned and gave a small nod. “Was it bad?” She grimaced, closing one eye as if awaiting a punch to the face.

“Not at all,” Emma said truthfully, rolling her head against the back of the cushion to look at her friend. “It was fun.”

“You don't sound like somebody who had fun,” Snow raised an eyebrow. “What happened?”

“I made coffee for the boss,” Emma shrugged. “He was so impressed I got the job.”

Snow gasped and her huge smile widened even more on her face. She clapped her hands together with a slap and a small squeak escaped her lips. “That's fantastic!” she chimed genuinely and Emma just smiled weakly in her direction. Snow frowned again and let he body slump. “Isn't it?”

Emma twisted her mouth. “I suppose.”

“Emma, what's wrong with you? You were so excited for this opportunity, and now you look like someone has just taken away all of your candy.” Snow had no idea.

“David drinks there. Daily,” Emma tried to change the subject. The longer she didn't have to admit she was crushing on her boss the better. It would not only be a horrendously unprofessional idea, but things never worked out with colleagues she had often been told.

Snow gasped again and her cheeks began their familiar crimson flush. “The delivery guy?” She asked innocently.

“You know that is who I mean,” Emma smiled with a smirk. Snow was the strongest person she had ever met. Tiny and yet feisty, Snow had always been there to fight Emma's corner when she needed her, but for all of that, she crumbled so easily at the sight of a dashing knight in shining armour. Emma was pretty sure by the way they had stared at each other the night before that if there was any such thing as True Love, she had witnessed it right there and then. “Has he called or texted yet?”

Mary Margaret blushed harder and she cleared her throat with small, feminine growl. “No...”

“Liar,” Emma interrupted her quickly. “I know when someone is lying to me, remember?”

“Okay, so it was just a few messages last night,” Snow waved her hand dismissively with a shake of her head. Emma stared at her hard, extracting the information with a single glare. “Until 3am.”

“I knew you weren't just tired from the move!” Emma accused, slapping her knee.

“Oh Emma,” Snow began dreamily, slouching her body sideways against the couch and unable to hide her smile as she recalled the texts. “He is such a gentleman. And so genuine. And charming. Emma, he is charming,” Snow accented the last word with a roll of her eyes and a giggle came from Emma.

“He sounds simply dreamy,” Emma told her friend, matching her grin. “What did you guys talk about?”

Snow shrugged quickly, lifting her shoulders before dropping them again. “Just stuff. That's what makes it so perfect,” Snow began, grabbing one of the cushions and resting it under her head so she could see Emma more clearly. “He was just a normal guy, saying normal things.”

“You mean he wasn't a New York crack pot?” Emma teased.

Snow rolled her eyes and let out another hearty laugh. Emma was happy for her friend but the creeping seed of doubt rippled its way through her thought process and she couldn't help but wonder about David some more. Snow liked him, and that was all the Emma needed to know to protect her friend, but as fierce as Snow could be, she could also be fragile. Emma would protect her, and her heart, at any cost. “He must be a serial killer. Nobody is this perfect,” Snow's smile faded as if she believed her own words.

“I'm sure he isn't,” Emma reached over and took her friend by the hand, gripping onto her fingers reassuringly. “And If he wants to take this further, he'll have to go through me.”

“Don't you dare,” Snow warned, holding out a single accusing finger and pointing it at Emma.

“What?” Emma defended innocently.

“You said that to Graham. Remember? In ninth grade,” Snow reminded her.

“His intentions were impure,” Emma mocked.

“You punched him,” Snow droned with a scowl.

“He said I was a cock block!” Emma squeaked, defending her actions that had defended her friend’s virginity. Snow stifled a laugh. “And besides,” Emma pushed herself from the couch and walked to the kitchen. “He was trying to get in my pants too.”

Snow watched her walk to the kitchen and heard her rustling around in a counter drawer that had already become full of take out menus and other odds and ends. “You could have just told me that,” Snow called after her, twisting her body on the couch and trying to watch her around the dividing wall. Emma found what she was looking for and reappeared within seconds.

“I'm sure David's intentions are nothing but honourable,” Emma smiled, dropping the Chinese take out menu onto Snow's lap. Snow blushed and plucked the thick, shiny paper from her lap.

“But you don't like Chinese that much. And it's your turn to pick,” Snow declared suddenly, avoidance lacing her words.

“I pick Chinese,” Emma smirked.

  
Much to Emma's destain, and Snow's disappointment, David did not deliver their food tonight. Snow had paced the entire apartment, wearing a tread mark into the floorboards with her slippers as she awaited his arrival that never came. Instead, their food was delivered by a teenager who Emma and Snow both thought looked too young to be working at all. Ever the vigilant teacher, Snow had questioned the boy’s age, but was met with a silent scoff as his hip-hop music blared uncomfortably from the headphones around his neck. Snow tipped him double, just because.

Emma had only eaten half of the delivered food, insisting on saving the rest for her lunch tomorrow. There was something off putting about Chinese two nights in a row, and Emma felt her skin twinge with the unacceptable tingle of excess grease and acne. At her age, she figured it was not impossible, but very unwelcome, and so she had washed her dinner remnants down her throat with an excess of bottled water to clear her pores.

Even though she hadn't seen David this evening, her unmistakable smirk from the opposite end of the couch had told Emma that Snow was texting him. The cable guy has come out today, prearranged again by Mary Margaret's forward thinking, and so they were eager to sit indoors and see what was on _Netflix_. At just seven thirty in the evening, Emma was frustratedly bored of this day already.

“Maybe a documentary about serial killers?” Emma snorted a laugh through her nose as she used the remote to scroll through the list on TV shows.

“Ha ha,” Snow didn't look away from her phone once, her face illuminated by the glare from the blue hued screen.

“Killer whales in captivity?” Emma offered, scanning the description of the documentary before decided for both of them and skipping to the next one. “Oh here is one about Prince Charming riding in on a white stallion and sweeping Snow White off her feet,” Emma smiled to herself.

“Hmm?” Snow looked up briefly at her name before realising Emma's joke was at her expense.

“Never mind,” Emma laughed at her friend, sighing heavily and dropping the remote to her chest. She was slouched down on the couch, almost horizontal and she tapped her fingers to the black oblong.

“Anything will do,” Snow said, but still did not take her eyes from her screen. She was tucked up into a little ball, her knees pulled close to her chest and her elbows resting on them, squashed between her chest and the thighs.

“We are so boring,” Emma huffed. “I am trying to watch documentaries on a Friday night with someone who would rather be talking with a guy who delivered us Chinese once upon a time!” Emma pressed the power button on the remote and the TV screen turned black, the image disappearing and the faint hum dissipating into the room. It was at this moment Snow looked up and saw the blank TV.

“I'm sorry,” Snow said quickly, slapping her cell phone to her chest and forcing herself to look over to Emma. It wasn't long before it vibrated and she had to fight the urge to pick it up again.

“Nah, it's okay,” Emma shrugged and pushed herself up on the couch. “What is Prince Charming doing this evening anyway?”

Snow's lips twisted into a smile and she was thankful for Emma's indulgence in her current life activities. “He is out with a friend.”

“And texting you? He must have a very understanding friend,” Emma scoffed with a sulk, slamming her hands down beside her on the couch. Emma could do with a night out. She was young, in a brand new city and sitting at home with her best friend and room mate who was more interested in her cell phone than spending time with her. Emma wasn't jealous – she was happy for Snow – but she was so bored. “Right, no more boredom,” Emma pushed herself to her feet and spun on her bare heels, offering Mary Margaret her hand at the end of an extended arm.

Snow looked at confused for a second before placing her hand tentatively into Emma's warm palm. Emma tugged hard and lifted Snow to her feet, their bodies crashing together awkwardly and causing Emma to stagger backwards. “What are you doing?” Snow looked scared.

“We are going out,” Emma declared, spinning and draping Snow's limp arm over her shoulder as she marched them towards their bedrooms. “Ask David where he is and we'll meet him. And his friend,” Emma turned quickly, changing her stance to stepping backwards and wiggled her eyebrows playfully.

“We can't!” Snow pulled hard against Emma's arm and the fear plastered across her face made Emma smile harder. “I can't! I have nothing to wear!”

“Oh please,” Emma guffawed at her friend. “David would notice you even if you were wearing a burlap sack!” Snow blushed and looked down at the cell phone in her hand as it vibrated again, the rattling sound echoing down the hall. She paused, thumbs poised above the warm screen, and she gulped hard. “Ask him!” Emma urged as she turned the handle to her room and threw the door open. “Tell him I want to meet his friend!”

Snow took a breath and held it in, her lungs burning and her heart beat pounding in her ears. She could use Emma as an excuse to see David, and she wouldn't be alone. And in a public place. She would be safer. God, she had to really stop thinking of him as a potential murderer. “Oh...heck,” she exhaled hard and typed the question into the chat box.

“That's my girl!” Emma called from her bedroom, her voice bouncing off the brickwork and reverberating through the square room. Having already undressed, Emma had been looking for something specific. Something bold, but sexy. Something that would make a statement, and despite her rummaging, she had yet to uncover the dress she was looking for. Emma cursed herself for being so non-nonchalant with her belongings, wrinkling her nose at the state of her wardrobe.

Dressed only in her underwear, she moved to a second, smaller wardrobe she had positioned behind the door and pulled the single, full length mirror door open with ease. Emma's face lit up and a smile crept across her lips. She had found it, like the Holy Grail, hanging innocently in the middle of the smooth, metal railing. Emma reached in and plucked it from the bar, the sound of metal on metal filling her ears as she pulling the hanger from its safe place between her red leather jacket and another dress that was maybe a little bit too “Mary Margaret” for tonight.

Emma inhaled hard, running her fingers over the thin scrap of material in her hands before pulling it free from its hanger. It was one of her favourites. It wasn't too formal but also not too casual. It was comfortable and made Emma feel sexy at the same time. It was a little red dress, the slightly rippled material clinging to her skin as she pulled it over her hand and smoothed it down her body. The hem rested above her knee, the straps covered enough of her shoulders but not too much and it gripped at the ample swell of her breasts hungrily, accenting her cleavage. It was perfect.

Emma pushed the wardrobe door closed and looked at herself in the mirror before her. She smoothed her hands own her sides, following the edge of her curves and resting her hands on her hips. Emma's hair was naturally curled, resting lazily on her shoulders and bouncing with every movement of her head. She didn't have to do anything to it really, and she just smoothed her hand over the crown of her blonde locks and she gave her reflection a wry smile.

“Are you ready?” Snow panted as she rounded the corner, clearly having rushed her own change in order to go meet David. She stopped dead, her jaw dropping a little at the transformation before her. “Wow. The red dress,” she raised her eyebrows, her voice a little judgmental.

“Too much?” Emma turned to look at her. Snow was wearing a yellow button up tea dress, white polka dots adoring the entire thing. It was knee length with capped sleeves and a round neck, and the skirt flared out slightly, the thin cotton material billowing up as she walked. A little red scrap of leather was around her waist in the guise of a non functional belt and Snow was wearing some simple black flats and a white cardigan. Emma let her eyes roam over Snow's outfit and sighed. “It's too much,” she said, not waiting for a response from her friend.

“No!” Snow insisted with a shake of her head. “It's very you,” she smiled.

“It's desperate,” Emma told her quickly with snort.

“Nonsense,” Snow maintained, crossing her arms over her chest in the doorway. “Wear the red heels,” she grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your comments guys! I didn't realise people would like this as much as you do! I have written some chapters ahead of time, and I have at least a 21 chapter plan for this fic! Phew!!!! I hope you like whats to come :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one in which Emma crosses the first boundary she has set out for herself and doesn't care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [@WelpThisIsHappening](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WelpThisIsHappening/pseuds/WelpThisIsHappening) for being my beta reader!   
> This is the moment you have all been waiting for, and if i ever had a talent, it is for analyzing scenes and emotions during an OTP kiss. I hope i did this one justice (you'll know it when you read it captain swaners!)
> 
> I will also post updates to tumblr, so if you wanted to follow me there, i am @artistic-writer.

David tapped his fingers nervously on the bar, its slightly rubbery surface was sticky and thick with years of grime. He had no doubt that each time it was cleaned it was quickly and with little effort, and over time the bar had become its own being, thickened by the sweat and fingerprints of a million patrons. He shot another look – his fifth one so far – over to the darkened doorway, scanning the space for Mary Margaret's tiny frame. Killian, on the other hand, was more relaxed, leaning back in his low back bar stool casually and watching his friend with a smirk.

“Calm down,” Killian laughed, lifting his tumbler to his lips again and taking a sip of his rum. The brown liquid slid down his throat with a welcome burn and pooled in the pit of his stomach.

“She said she would be here,” Killian almost rolled his eyes at his friend's desperation and spun himself back to face the bar.

David took a breath, inhaling the stench of bodies and booze. Of course, she would. Why wouldn't she? It wasn't like they had just met the day before and had been constantly texting each other ever since. It wasn't like he might have said a few things in those text messages to impress her which may or may not have been true. He was nervous and his armpits flushed hotly under his shirt.

David was dressed smartly casual, similar to how he was before, except this time he had opted for his collarless black leather jacket. It was so impractical for a New York winter, but he felt confident wearing it, and when you were friends with the ever arrogant Killian Jones, you needed a little boost every now and then. David shot another look towards the door, sighing heavily when she still hadn't appeared into his field of view.

“You look desperate, mate,” Killian reiterated his previous words, reworking it into a more obvious statement in the hopes of David understanding his meaning. He held a finger up for the barman, pushing his empty glass towards the scruffy bearded man when he approached him again. He had a damp white towel thrown over his shoulder and a smart black shirt rolled up to his elbows. Killian was not shy when it came to drinking, and a good rum was his favourite tipple. “Another, my good man,” he gave the barman a quick smile and pressed a crumpled bill to the bar, sliding it towards him with a nod.

“She's late,” David frowned, pressing his weight against the bar. He didn't want to take his eyes off the doorway for a second.

“He speaks!” Killian announced triumphantly, nudging his elbow into David's. David shot him a glare, taking his eyes off of the arched entrance to _The Rabbit Hole_ and missing Snow and Emma's entry. “And you say she is bringing a friend?” Killian's eyebrow twitched on his face, raising above the other as he smirked.

“Yeah, her room mate,” David shook his head needlessly.

Killian fingered the edge of his tumbler, the glass wet from condensation. A small smile played across his lips and he looked to David with a cocked brow that made David suspicious on his intentions. “Does this room mate have a name?”

“Why?” David queried quickly, narrowing his eyes.

“So I know what to call the young lass,” Killian's words set off another wry grin and he gulped a mouthful of rum down once more, enjoying the discomfort inflicted upon his already nervously itchy friend. “Relax,” Killian patted David's shoulder with his bionic hand, the cool metal of the device hidden under a single, black leather glove. “You need to believe I'm not the dashingly handsome philanthropist and plunderer of hearts you assume.”

“Yes, well,” David snapped impatiently, remembering that whilst many a woman had thrown themselves at his friend over the years, he could count on one hand the number of times Killian had lived up to his bravado and taken a girl home. “It's Emily? Amelia? Or something,” he shook his head at the notion of trying to remember any name other than Mary Margaret.

“Emma,” Killian breathed, catching sight of his new employee standing beside a petite, black haired, cherub faced woman at the other end of the bar.

“Yeah, that's it. Emma,” David agreed, not realising what his friend was looking at along the grimy length of bar.

If Killian had thought Emma was pretty in a white cotton t shirt and a Granny's apron, he had not planned on his body's reaction to seeing her in what she was wearing now. Or more accurately, his heart hadn't counted on it. With his mouth agape, he took in a breath and let his hand slide from David's shoulder. It fell silently and unnoticed as he watched Emma shake her head and flick her bouncing blonde curls over her shoulder effortlessly.

David followed his gaze and mirrored his actions when he saw Mary Margaret standing beside her. His skin flushed, but the colour in his face faded away, unnoticed in the shadowy bar. “She's here,” David gasped, his hands bunching into fists at his sudden nervousness, and his words catching in his throat.

Killian felt his lips twitch a the corners, pulling themselves into a narrow smile. “She is,” he agreed with his friend but not referring to the same person he was.

Killian had spent most of the last twelve hours trying to shake the images in his mind of the pretty young barista he had just hired. At least he could say he had hired her because of the way she made coffee – that wouldn't have been a lie. Emma's coffee was smooth with just the right hint of welcomed bitterness that had slid to the back of his throat with ease as he drunk it. Killian had in absolutely no way been influenced by her smile, her candor, or the way she leaned forward against the counter top as she had talked to him with kindness and welcoming. Absolutely not.

And he was most certainly not recalling the day dream he had inflicted upon himself. Not imagining the way the material of her dress felt under his fingertips. Certainly not imagining how it clung to every inch of her perfectly shaped body, accenting everything – and he meant everything – that made her so appealing. Even in the darkened bar, bodies crushed together as they huddled to buy more drinks, Emma stood out. Her red dress, partially hidden under the matching red leather of a jacket she was busily peeling off, was like a beacon in the room, a fire alight around her, beckoning him closer like a moth to a flame.

As it turned out, Killian had no need to gravitate towards her like a small, fuzzy insect because David had been busy gaining gusto, and had waved Emma and Snow over to their position. Killian repositioned himself in his seat, sitting forward on the chair and resting his elbows to the bar. He looked down at his drink awkwardly, gripping onto the glass a little too eagerly and wishing he hadn't actually had so many. Why did David's new love interest have to be room mates with the one person he shouldn't – professionally speaking – have his own interest in?

“Mary Margaret,” David beamed as she reached him but then he froze. He wasn't entirely sure what to do next and Emma barged Snow from behind, making her fall forward and into David's arms. He held her awkwardly and it turned into a small embrace before Emma shot Snow an apologetic look. “How are you?”

Snow grinned from ear to ear and stepped back from him. Emma noticed the pink blush that had crept over her cheeks and Snow bowed her head to push away a strand of her short style. “I'm fantastic,” she smiled, her words sweet and honestly the best thing David had ever heard. “How about you?”

“Oh, I'm great,” David smiled back as he let his hands drop from her arms, his skin instantly missing the feel of the cotton under his fingertips. They stood apart, but the space wasn't large enough for anyone to invade on their way to the bar. For a second, neither of them spoke and Emma could have sworn she heard some sort of love themed anthem playing around them. _The Snow/Charming love theme she thought with a smile._

“How about a drink?” Emma offered the hopeless couple with a tight lipped smile.

David's head snapped up and he easily spied the taller woman over the top of Snow's head. “Emma?” he frowned.

“Yeah,” she knew what he was going to say so she interjected him quickly. “I'm not always making coffee,” Emma motioned over herself, lifting the red jacket draped over her arm out of the way so that David could see all of her.

“She scrubs up well,” Snow shrugged, downplaying her friend's amazing outfit. Her words also hadn't gone unnoticed by Killian who, without lifting his gaze from the near empty glass before him, agreed.

“Aye, she does.”

Emma gulped hard. She couldn't see him behind David's bulk, but his words, formed eloquently by his amazingly smooth accent – _God, that accent_ – had her skin tingling. As David stepped aside, quickly apologising once again for forgetting his manners, Emma gripped harder at the soft, red leather of her jacket in her hands. Killian Jones was sitting in one of the low backed bar stools with just Snow and David between them. Emma could see he was again dressed in black, or dark blue, she couldn't quite tell, and was wearing no jacket and just a shirt. But what a shirt. The material was begging to be touched, soft to look at and luxurious with an almost hidden motif pressed onto it in a repeating pattern.

He was wearing those same jeans, tapering to his ankles and leaving nothing to the imagination as they gripped at his thighs enticingly, but now he had swapped his heavy boots for some smarter black shoes. They had no laces, probably because of his hand, but they were polished to the highest standard Emma had ever seen. _Navy discipline_. His shirt was tucked in smartly, a black belt sitting around his waist and its silvery buckle glinting against some light above the bar, and the top three – _excessive?_ \- buttons were popped open to reveal that chest hair.

What Emma wouldn't give to run her fingers through it. _Stop_. Or his black hair, medium length and swept to one side, trailing into lighter shades in front of his ears and tempting her fingers with its soft downy texture on his neck. _God, stop._ Or over the clearly defined muscular ripple of his shoulders under his shirt...

“What would you like to drink, ladies?” David interrupted her sordid daydream and Emma tore her eyes from Killian for a second to look at him.

“I'll have just a glass of wine,” Snow said sweetly, lifting her leg and perching herself onto one of the bar stools. With two between her and Killian, Emma figured David would want to sit next to Snow, so she moved forward into the space he had previously occupied and smiled at Killian.

“A Dark n' Stormy,” she smirked, talking to David but boring her stare into Killian. He might be her boss, but right here, right now, in that delectable outfit, he wasn't anything more than a man at a bar. Killian looked sideways at her and lifted an eyebrow.

“A rum based cocktail,” he noted as Emma laid her jacket over the back of the stool and lifted her frame up onto it.

“Yes, is that a problem?” Emma said coyly, lacing her fingers together and resting them on her lap. Killian watched intently.

“Quite the contrary,” he motioned towards his own drink – his fourth – nearly empty on the bar.

“You like rum too?” Emma leaned forward so he could hear her words. The bar had become a little louder now that happy hour was about to start and without even thinking, she rested her hands over his arm to steady herself.

Killian instinctively leaned toward her, cocking his head so she could talk into his ear. The hair on his neck stood on end as she spoke, her hot, warm breath tickling at his ear lobe and for the first time in many years, he felt warmth in his hand that had been reduced to nothing but nuts and bolts for so long. He knew it wasn't a real feeling, but a phantom perception he welcomed openly.

“I like rum too,” he retorted with a smile as Emma's drink arrived along the bar. The barman handed it to David, who pushed both it and the napkin it was sitting on along the bar effortlessly. Emma sat back to retrieve it, letting her fingers slip from his arm and instantly missing the contact.

“I wouldn't have taken you for someone who knew so much about cocktails though,” Emma sat back a little, plucking her high ball glass from the bar and circling her tongue around the thin, red straw that stuck out of it. Her drink was, as the name suggests, like a storm. Half the glass was almost clear with an orange top that was busy bleeding through the ice, mixing the two halves. Emma helped it along, gripping the straw between her fingers and bouncing it around in the drink.

“I know many things about many things,” Killian winked at her, lifting a finger to the barman for another drink.

Emma watched his hand and bit down on the straw. _I bet you do._

“What a coincidence,” Killian welcomed his drink and thanked the barman with a nod as he removed the previously empty glass. Emma frowned.

“What is?” She sipped her drink and let the ice cold tang of alcohol slip languidly down her throat. Killian watched her neck as she swallowed, making a mental note of how soft her skin looked at that particular moment and wishing, in his semi drunken state, how he could find a way of tasting it.

He nodded over her shoulder. “You and Mary Margaret,” he said, gulping back a burn in his throat.

“Not really.” 

He continued. “David and Mary Margaret meeting so casually,” he shrugged, lifting his drink up to his lips once more.

“Yeah, why does he deliver Chinese food?” Emma wondered aloud suddenly.

“You and I,” he almost whispered, watching her over the rim of his glass as he finally took a sip of rum.

“You and I?” Emma narrowed her eyes at him and took another sip of her drink. “There is no ‘You and I’,” She gulped.

Killian just smirked at her response, sticking his tongue out over his bottom lip and biting down on it. Emma could see that he was on the cusp of drunk, but she also suspected that without the alcohol this conversation wouldn't have been so randomly amusing. Killian pressed a finger to his lips, feeling his head swirl a little in the hazy bar. “Never say never, Swan.”

He used her name again. The way he did before and the way she kind of didn't but did like. The butterflies in her stomach lurched to life, their invisible wings beating relentlessly on the sides of her belly as they whizzed around her gut. How could someone so blatant be so attractive? Not just to look at, because Killian Jones was nothing if not tempting, but in everything. His mannerisms, his accent, the way his lightly stubbled jaw stretched across his face with every smile. The more Emma thought about it, the more she answered her own questions, and the more conflicted she felt.

_He's your boss._

As the night drew on, Emma drank more and more. It wasn't her fault that both David and Killian were super generous, buying both Snow and herself drink after drink. From what Emma could tell, David drank beer. And he drank straight from the bottle, something she knew Snow found endearing for whatever strange reason. Each time he had lifted the cold, brown bottles to his lips, Snow had leaned on her hand to watch him like a love sick puppy.

Emma knew that they had talked most of the evening about their date. David had yet to take Snow out to dinner, as he had previously promised when he had fumbled their delivery of Chinese. And Emma figured he was getting to know her so well that it would probably end up as a pointless exercise. How two people could talk so much, and so quickly she would never quite know. They seemed to be as one as they chatted, finishing each other's sentences and letting the tell tale spark of romance show itself with glances, smiles and tender touches.

If they didn't kiss soon, Emma was going to make them.

Killian had insisted on them all moving into a booth seat once one had become free, so they had. Snow had pressed herself up against David for most of the evening, only excusing herself to use the facilities or follow David to the bar. Even from the other side of the room, Emma could see the way Snow leaned against him, uninhibited by wine and spritzers, and she smiled at the genuine elation on her friends face.

“He likes her,” Killian's words shook her from her reverie, Emma's vision a little blurred as she spun her face towards him once more. He was sitting beside her, his bulk pressed into the seat and his gloved hand thrown over the back of the seat. If Emma didn't know better she would say he was trying to sneak a glancing touch of the bare skin of her shoulder.

“She likes him too,” Emma confirmed with a grin.

Killian shuffled his weight, sliding closer to her on the seat. He almost draped his body over hers as he leaned closer, his breath tickling the skin of her neck. “I like you,” he whispered unashamedly and Emma could swear she felt him smile.

“You're drunk,” Emma pulled away from him, pressing her hand against his chest to hold him back when he threatened to fall towards her. Her fingertips brushed against that chest hair and Emma didn't even realise she had curled her fingers into it before it was happening.

“That might be so,” Killian slurred, sitting back away from her. “But I know what I want.”

Emma snorted in her throat and turned away from him, instantly missing the warmth of his body beside hers. “You can't have this,” Emma told him as if she was talking to a child.

Killian laughed and just grinned at her. “Alright, love,” he conceded.

“I mean it,” Emma drunkenly pressed the issue further to his surprise, spinning to look at him quickly. Killian was taken back when her bare knees bumped into his under the circular table, its irregular shape forcing them together. “You're my boss.”

“Yes, well,” Killian tucked his leg between her knees, shooting a glance over to the bar at David and Snow before shuffling even closer. His words were barely a whisper, but Emma could hear them as clear as day. “Perhaps a little gratitude is in order,” Killian lifted his fingers to his lips, tapping on the pink fleshy smile that had formed on his face. His eyes were dark but still the impossible blue colour that took Emma's breath from her in that moment.

Emma laughed a little at his words, not quite believing his cheek. “Thank you,” she smiled coyly. “For giving me a job.”

Killian leaned closer to her, his elbow resting on the table and his hand falling forward to smooth over the skin of her shoulder. Emma shivered under his touch and swallowed a hard lump that had formed in her throat. How could he be so drunk and yet so able to affect her entire body with one, tiny trace of his finger? A small laugh left his throat, but Emma only heard the lust in his voice. “Just thank you?” he purred, his eyes flicking between Emma's lips and hers as he licked at his bottom lip.

Emma rolled her eyes and pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear nervously. “Please,” she smiled at him, taking in his flushed cheeks as her eyes roamed over his face. “You couldn't handle it,” she breathed, fixing her gaze on his one more time.

“Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it,” Killian almost growled, his tongue clicking against the back of his teeth as he accented the last word.

Emma stared at him for a second, her bottom jaw twisting sideways as she pondered her options. There were not many really, and drunk Emma had always been a reckless Emma. Not only that, but she couldn't let anyone – let alone her boss – think that she was some kind of weak willed woman who could be shooed into submission with a flirting threat. Maybe Killian thought Emma wouldn't react. Maybe he thought she would. Either way, she did.

Emma reached her hands up between them, grabbing the open edge of Killian's shirt. She gripped at the material so hard that her fingertips burned white as she bunched it in her hands and she felt a slight tug on his chest hair as she pulled his entire body forward. Killian went limp in her arms, unable to stop the inevitable as Emma crushed her lips to his harshly. At first, it was quick and chaste, but when Killian felt Emma's hand tangle itself into the soft hair on the back of his head, he saw an opportunity to show her how capable of handling it he was.

Killian lifted his hand and tentatively rested it to the back of Emma's head. Her hair was soft under his fingers and he apprehensively stroked the lightly, curled warmth. He felt Emma soften at his touch, gripping harder at the edges of his shirt and holding her face to his. She was the first one to waiver, parting her lips to take a deep breath, but never letting his mouth leave hers. Killian pressed harder to her head, parting his own lips and deepening the kiss.

Emma's mouth was warm and tasted of lime and ginger, her tongue smoothing itself over the ridge of his teeth as they kissed. Killian tilted his chin, eager to push his tongue deeper into Emma's mouth. She complied, tilting her own head and pushing against his face with her own, a soft pant leaving her mouth each time she took a much-needed breath. It was mesmerizing and Killian's world stopped around him until it was just the two of them kissing in a darkened booth of a dive bar in New York.

Emma had no idea what she was doing. She was kissing her boss, hard and fast, and it was amazing. Her mind was telling her to stop, screaming at her subconscious unsuccessfully. Killian tasted of neat rum and his breath was laced with the alcohol too. Emma could smell it each time he gasped a breath and sunk his tongue back into her mouth with a wanton pant. A small groan escaped him and he felt Emma smirk against his lips.

Emma was so lost in the kiss that she nearly forgot what point she was trying to prove, and her body betrayed her even more as she pulled away from his, tearing their lips apart, but her hands pulled at the edges of his askew shirt so he was held to her face. Killian's nose was pressed against her cheek and both their mouths hung open as they panted hard against each other's face.

“That was, uh...” he croaked, his eyes finally opening to meet Emma's. His brow was damp, his hair ruffled and his previously encountered arrogance was gone. Killian dropped his gaze back to Emma's lips, leaning forward for a second taste of them when Emma pulled away and released her grip on his shirt.

“A one-time thing,” She almost had to push him away from her and Killian frowned, his brow knitting together in confusion. Emma twisted in her seat, smoothing her hands back through her hair and shaking it over her shoulders. “Don't mention this when they come back,” Emma plucked her straw between her fingers and nodded towards the bar.

“As you wish,” Killian obeyed and Emma smirked a little when he let out a frustrated breath beside her.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very special thanks to [@WelpThisIsHappening](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WelpThisIsHappening/pseuds/WelpThisIsHappening) for being my beta - you are so kind <3 This fic is coming along nicely, so thank you all whoever is reading it! I wish more people would review/comment so i know you are!

Emma's head hurt. Correction. Emma's head was incredibly painful and the tiniest movement caused a thundering to pound in her skull. She was reluctant to open her eyes, and covered her face with one of her arms lazily. She frowned underneath an unfamiliar fabric, the material soft and pleasant against the bridge of her nose. Emma noted that it covered all of her arms, and her shoulders, and her body felt strangely different to last night. It felt naked.

Emma peeled an eye open, peeking out from underneath the dark blue sleeve that covered her face. The low ceiling was panelled with white wood above her, tiny round spotlights – that were thankfully turned off – spaced out along the boards evenly. Her eyes slid sideways and Emma noted the room was small, square and covered in bare brick. Every wall was bare brick, except for the door which was one huge, dark blue wooden sliding panel. It obviously separated in the middle, but was pulled together and closed.

Emma let the arm slip from her face and a confused frown knitted her eyebrows together as she groggily sat up in the bed she was sitting in. Her mouth was dry and Emma tried desperately to moisten her tongue by smacking her lips together quickly. The room was silent and morning was barely breaking over the horizon so it was dark. There was enough light outside, flooding through an overhead skylight, that Emma noticed a glint and saw the huge, square, bevelled glass mirror wall mounted opposite the bed.

She squinted at it in the dimly lit room, taking her ruffled hair and smeared make up. Emma's eyes felt as dry as her mouth and she she rolled her shoulders a little because the room was also chilled. She wrinkled her nose when she saw herself in the mirror. She was dressed in a blue shirt, one sleeve rolled half way up to her elbow and the other hanging full length and covering her delicate hand. The huge comforter was bunched up around her waist, and Emma was suddenly thankful because she could feel that underneath she was only dressed in her panties.

In conclusion, Emma had not slept in her own bed last night. _Oh no._

Emma suddenly felt very awake, reaching her hand behind her head to smooth over her hair. It had lost most of its curls by now and felt dirty under her touch, most likely from the bar last night and the city pollution outside. Emma pressed her hands into the thick mattress, her hands sinking into the covering and leaving prints as she slid her body back against the headboard. Her head throbbed again and she pinched her eyes closed, wincing with the pain. Emma was starting to think that going out had been a bad idea.

Emma felt the comforter slip away from her grasp suddenly and she snapped her head sideways, wide eyed and panicked. Her heart began to thunder in her chest and it resonated through her already excruciating headache. She froze, unable to move as the covers wiggled besides her, the fainted trace of tussled black hair poking out from underneath its edge. Emma held her breath, holding her clenched hands to her chest and biting her bottom lip to avoid making any noise.

Finally the figure stop stirring and Emma wished the room was lighter. She couldn't see anything and the only light pouring through the sky light was shining onto the heaped comforter beside her. A soft sigh came out from underneath it and Emma sighed irritatedly at herself. What was she afraid of exactly? This surely meant the evening had gone well? She struggled to remember what exactly had happened, because the last thing she remembered was a killer whale documentary of _Netflix_ , but clearly she had gone out and enjoyed herself at last.

Emma reached out her hand, pausing briefly when the figure groaned a little. She couldn't make out any recognisable voice, the groan being dark, rumbled and muffled by the pillow. He was facing away from her, she could tell that much, laying face down on the sheets under the comforter. Emma continued her action when he stopped his groan and tugged on the edge of the comforter, pulling it back slowly to reveal the back of a head, some shoulders and finally letting the dark blue material pool at his waist. Emma wasn't sure how far down she wanted to see yet, so she paused there.

His shoulders were broad and Emma had to resist her slightly still drunk urge to reach out and smooth her fingertips over the skin there. The moved gently, rising and falling with his breathing as he slept, his shoulder blades shifting under a clearly muscular frame. The skin was smooth and Emma could see that he not only had a tattoo, but it was impressively decorating the entirety of one shoulder and down half of one arm. Emma couldn't quite make out what it was, but it looked Celtic in design, was black and white and highlighted the ridges of muscles across his back.

Emma could see scars marring his skin, the moonlight tumbling down onto the already lightened skin and making them seem more prominent. She noticed he has his left arm tucked securely under his pillow, but noticed more of the silvery skin at the juncture between the pillowcase and his arm. Emma frowned a little and moved a little closer, inhaling his scent as she did so. He smelled like the shirt she was wearing, an inviting blend of cologne and spices, with a lingering undertone of rum.

_Rum. RUM._

If realisation had been a palpable thing, Emma had just been hit with it at one hundred miles per hour. And she was not ready. Some events of the evening came flooding back to her, but the last thing she remembered was laughing and joking with Snow, David and Killian at The Rabbit Hole.

_Killian. Shit._

Was she in Killian Jones' bed? Emma tutted, clicking her tongue behind her teeth in frustration. “You idiot,” she whispered to herself in the darkness, falling back against the voluptuous pillows and covering her face in her hands.

“Swan?” Killian rasped and rolled over in the bed, his eyes searching in the darkness for her beside him.

Emma laid still, holding her breath and hoping he wouldn't remember that she was there beside him. Killian didn't stop searching until he found her, a small smirk playing across his lips as he spied her tucked under the comforter. He pulled his arm out from under the pillow as he turned and for the first time, Emma saw the gnarled nub of his handless arm, peppered with long, thick scar tissue that resembled the twist of rope.

“Hey,” Emma said flatly, whispering in the darkness as if not to wake anyone who might be near by.

Killian blinked his eyes a few times and he smacked his lips together because his mouth was arid and tasted of a mixture of rum and cheese. “What time is it?” he groaned through a yawn, falling onto his back and letting his eyes fall closed again.

Emma paused, unsure if he had fallen back to sleep or if he was just laying there with his eyes closed. When he rolled his head towards her, peeling his gorgeous blue eyes open that shone in the moonlight, she shrugged. The material of his shirt slipped over her shoulder a little, exposing some of her flesh.

Killian didn't seem to notice as he rolled over and reached out his hand, slamming it down onto his bedside table and grabbing his phone. The light from the screen of the cell phone lit up the room and Emma noticed that her red dress was discarded near the doorway. With a blush, she crinkled her brow and pinched the bridge of her nose. Now she wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or her headache, but she was suddenly pained with regret.

“What time is it?” Emma echoed his question.

“Early,” Killian said gruffly, turning his cell screen down on the table with a thud. He grabbed the edge of the bed and pushed his weight back over, letting his handless arm rub over his eyes as he yawned again. “But it's officially still Saturday.”

“Still?” Emma pressed.

“We've been here only a few hours,” Killian let a small chuckle escape his throat but it was interrupted by a chesty cough when his body began to shake involuntarily.. “Ug...” he moaned, sitting up in the bed beside her and instantly regretting his decision to be upright. He rubbed the back of his head, pinching his eyes closed as if the darkness was too bright for his retinas. “Too much rum.”

“How much did we drink?” Emma coaxed again, watching him grunt and groan beside her. Killian's head hung down, his neck arching as he rubbed his hand over it and another yawn escaped his mouth on a hitch breath. Emma couldn't tear her eyes from his back. It was glorious, and toned, and intricately decorated with knots and Celtic tribal patterns down one side.

“You drank more than I,” he accused, turning to face her hidden figure with a smirk. “You sure can put them away, Swan.”

Emma didn't remember but she had to get to the bottom of her evening. “Why is my dress over by the door?”

“You discarded it over there.”

“When? Why?” She pushed, irritated.

“When we got here last night and you declared that it was affecting your breathing,” Killian admitted, copying her tone from the night before.

“So, why am I wearing your shirt?” Emma folded her arms over her chest, hugging the material to her body and not even realising it.

Killian smiled at her panic. “You put it on after...” he began but Emma cut him off quickly.

“After what?” she sounded disgusted and offended.

“Relax,” Killian calmed her with a small smile. “I haven't defiled you,” he teased arrogantly.

Emma did relax, but just a little. She still was wearing no bra underneath his shirt and it bothered her as to who had seen her half naked.

“You put it on after taking off your dress and bra,” he let his smile tug up at the corners, recalling the sight. “I insisted,” he quirked an eyebrow at her and pressed his index finger to his lips.

“Why?” Emma sounded a little more angry, but she wasn't really angry with Killian. As it turned out, he was turning out to be a gentleman.

“Why what?” He frowned.

“Why did you insist?” Emma asked sharply, her fingernails digging into the crook of her elbows through the fabric of his shirt.

Killian sighed and leaned back into the pillows beside her. It took everything he had not to reach out and feel his shirt upon her skin, instead taking in the sight with hungry eyes. Propping himself up on his elbow, he rearranged his legs under the comforter. “Emma,” he practically purred her name and Emma thought she might die at the chivalry in his warning.

He had never said her name – not that she remembered – and the way it tumbled from his lips with the grace of a ballet artist made her gulp hard. The two syllables, something she had heard so often in her life, sounded like a sultry whisper from his lips. It was more than just her name, it was like a promise or a plea, and Emma felt her stomach tingle.

“Yes?” She interjected, eager for his response.

“For your dignity, love,” Killian pinched his eyes closed a little when ripple of pain made white flash behind his eyes.

“My dignity?” Emma spat defensively. If there was a competition for building walls, Emma would be the World Champion.

Killian smiled again, resting his head to his hand. “If you think I am just a pirate out to plunder all of the young ladies, then I am afraid you have been misinformed of my intentions.”

“Then why am I in your bed?” Emma thought she could catch him out with this one.

“Because you needed to sleep somewhere when we all got back here,” Killian yawned again and Emma wasn't sure if he was tired from lack of sleep, or tired of her constant questioning.

“We?”

“Aye, Mary Margaret and David went to his room,” Killian nodded towards the doors pulled closed across the doorway to his room. “Rather hastily I might add.”

Emma frowned. It wasn't like Snow to go home with strangers, but it was like her. A sudden wave of panic hit Emma as she realised she may have suggested this whole fiasco in the first place.

“And you insisted on sleeping in my bed, despite my protests,” Killian finished his story, looking up at her through his eyelashes as he motioned his nub over the expansive bed.

“Protests?” Emma lifted a brow at him. “Please,” she droned, her tongue working too much and too quickly for her brain to stop it.

Killian let out a breathy grunt and she was sure she could hear him smiling. “Swan, I am a man of honour and tradition.”

“They why are you in your bed?” Emma huffed accusingly and Killian just laughed, rolling away from her and settling himself back against the pillows on his side of the bed.

“Because, love,” he said sleepily, letting his eye flutter closed when he face touched the coolness of the dark blue pillow case. “This is where I sleep.”

Emma was done with his arrogance and his cocky demeanour. It was too much for her to digest. She was, in essence, still slightly drunk and she suspected him of the same fate. Emma reached over and punched her hand to the hardness of his shoulder blade and Killian roused from his doze with a grumble. “Promise me,” she ground out through her teeth.

“Promise what, Swan?” Killian mumbled into his pillow.

“Promise me you didn't sleep with me.”

Killian peeled his eyes open and rearranged his head so he was resting his face to his scarred arm. Facing away from her she couldn't see his eyes as the flicked up and down his forearm, the remnants of his accident still visible for all to see. His forearm was thinner than the other, most of his muscle having been torn from the bone when his arm had tangled in the rigging. It didn't matter what you looked like if a woman thought you less of a man because you only had one hand. Killian lost his smile, constantly ashamed of his deformity and he shifted his arm so it was hidden under the pillow. Away from him and away from Emma.

“Would it have been such a disaster if we had?” he said sadly, trying to hide the bitter tone in his words.

Emma wasn't sure how she should answer his question. On one hand, the answer was yes. A huge, resounding yes because he was her boss. Professionalism aside, she was sure there would be something in her contract to forbid it. On the other hand, it was a no. A equally gargantuan no because he was the most beautiful man Emma had ever seen and she had already been daydreaming of him. And his hair. And his shoulders. _God._

Killian rolled over to face her quickly when her silence was a cause for concern. “Don't feel like you have to compliment me so quickly, Swan,” he teased, running his hand through his lightly messed hair.

“What?” Emma blinked in the darkness.

“It's okay, I'm not offended much,” he quirked his eyebrow again.

“Don't...Just answer my question, please,” Emma groaned frustratingly.

“We're begging now?” Killian's smile twitched.

“I think I might still be a little drunk,” Emma sighed.

“Excellent,” Killian declared, rolling away from her again and standing by the side of the bed. Emma frowned at him, her tiny figure lost in the fullness of the comforter. Killian stood in the moonlight and Emma noticed the silvery glint of a chain around his neck. A ring hung on the end of it, but that was all Emma could see the in the grey light. “Then you won't remember this in the morning.”

Killian offered her a closed mouth grin and leaned forward to pluck his pillow from the bed with a forceful swipe. He tucked it under his handless arm and then searched the floor, finally bending down to drag a black blanket from the dark wood floorboards. He threw it haphazardly over his shoulder and Emma instantly missed the view of his skin.

“Where are you going?” Emma asked intrigued, regretting the way her voice sounded almost desperate. Like she would miss him beside her.

“To the couch, love,” he whispered and moved out of the lunar glow, disappearing into the darkness of the rest of the room. Emma heard him pad silently around the bed, his bare feet sticking to the bare boards with each step, and the gentle sound the ring around his neck made as it glided over the long chain.

“You didn't answer my question,” she pressed and he paused with his hand ready to pull the huge sliding door along its rail.

“We didn't,” Killian said slowly and pulled on the handle, sliding the door just enough so he could squeeze through the gap. His words were sincere and Emma knew he wasn't lying. “I am a gentleman after all.”

“Thank you,” Emma relaxed her voice with her body, sinking back under the covers and inhaling his scent from the fabric.

Killian smiled in the darkness but she couldn't see him. “Sleep well, Swan.”

  
Emma peeled her eyes open when the sunlight began to burned her skin. She wrinkled her nose and held her flat palm over her face before she rolled out of its heat, instantly realising she was not in her own bed. Then she remembered where she was and sat bolt upright. The comforter beside her was bunched up into an awkward shape and Emma grabbed the material, tugging it back quickly. The bed was bare, fine particles of dust dancing in the stream of light there.

_Phew._

The empty bed both intrigued and confused Emma. The room was aglow with the sunshine, each bare brick wall coloured with an orange hue and as she scanned the room, it seemed as though someone had got lucky last night. And yet, she didn't feel like it had been her. She looked down at what she was wearing and screwed her face up with confusion. She was half dressed and wearing Killian's shirt from last night, her bare breasts rubbing the inside of the luxurious material.

Emma blew out a huge breath, catching sight of herself in the mirror that was mounted opposite the bed. With the biggest sense of deja vu she reached up and flattened her hand to her ruffled locks, combing her fingers through the loosening curls and trying to tame its wildness. At the edge of the bed were a pair of sweatpants, the grey material folded in half and tossed neatly over the corner of the bed. Emma reached out and pulled them towards her, fighting her way through the thick duvet – _who has a comforter this thick?_ \- and swinging her legs over the edge of the low bed.

Emma was just about dressed enough – _bra, panties and all skin covered – check_ – when she heard a clatter from behind the huge bedroom doors. In the light of day she could see they were a navy blue, painted wood and clearly aged. The paint was peeling in several places and they hung on huge, industrial black running wheels that reminded Emma of miniature track tracks. Emma let her feet hit the warmth of the floor and made her way over to them, pulling against the matching black bar handle with a tug.

As soon and the door rolled across its runners, Emma was hit with the sweet, homely smell of pancakes. For a second she forgot about her throbbing forehead and let a smile crawl across her face as she slipped through the door. The apartment was very cluttered, clearly inhabited by men, but Emma ignored most of it and instead gravitated towards the tall breakfast bar next to the kitchenette.

If there was anything else left to surprise her about Killian Jones she would have been amazed. Emma slipped onto one of the tall, plastic seated stool and shook her hair over her shoulders as she watched the muscles of his back ripple and flex under the exertion of mixing batter. For a man with one hand he was very skilled, whisking, spooning and managing to create almost perfectly circular pancakes effortlessly.

_Imagine what else a man with one hand can do._

Emma shook the thought from her mind and reached for one of the four glasses in front of her which had been generously filled with a sunny orange juice. Emma lifted it to her lips, letting the chilled juice slide down her throat with a hungry gulp.

“It's freshly squeezed,” Killian said with a chirp, not taking his eyes from his task. He stepped sideways, easing the edge of the pancake from the pan with a spatula before shaking the pan and tossing the half cooked batter with a flick of his wrist. The pan clattered against the hob when Killian replaced it back into the flickering, blue-orange flame.

Emma raised her brow, impressed. “It's delicious.”

“It's also good for a hangover,” Killian said, watching his hand as he threw some fresh blueberries into the next batch of batter mix.

“Who said I have a hangover?” Emma challenged, finally getting a look at the intricate patchwork of his half sleeve tattoo. It was, as Emma had remembered, Celtic knots and crosses in a mural of water colour style black and grey across his shoulder blade, shoulder joint and down the upper of his right arm. Emma bit her lip unintentionally.

Killian dislodged the pancake once more but the same means and slid it from the pan onto a already full plate. He left the pan off of the heat and grabbed the plate, spinning on his bare heels and pacing it on the breakfast bar in front of her. “I'm sorry, did another Emma Swan drink me under the table last night?”

Emma let her eyes flick over his features. The cocky raised eyebrow was back and despite his shirtless appearance – _oh my God that chest hair_ – his hair was perfect. Emma pulled one of the pancakes apart, popping a morsel into her mouth.

“I don't remember,” she admitted as she chewed hungrily.

“I do,” he smirked, leaning forward on the bar. He crossed his arms so that his handless nub was hidden behind the more defined muscles of his good arm. “It was spectacular.”

Emma rolled her eyes at his grin. “It's a gift,” she shrugged, popping another piece of the sweet batter into her mouth.

His brow quirked again. “Drinking your weight in rum is a gift?”

“Rum? ug...,” Emma looked disgusted with herself. “No wonder I am still seeing blurs.”

“You insisted on rum,” Killian told her firmly, watching her mouth as she chewed on her pancake and noting she was still wearing his shirt. It looked good on her and he smiled a little possessively.

“This is really good,” Emma told him, changing the subject with a nod. “Are these on the menu?”

_The menu. At work. Boss._

“Not yet,” he said modestly. “Not enough feedback yet.”

“Well they are great,” Emma swallowed another mouthful and looked up to meet his eyes. “They are sweet, soft and satisfy a hunger I didn't even know I had.”

Killian's smile widened a little and he licked his lips nervously, pressing two ringed fingers to the moist surface of them. He looked like he was trying to remember something and Emma narrowed her eyes at him. “I know of something else like that,” he smirked.

Emma twisted her face and tilted her head sideways. “What's that?”

“Oh nothing,” Killian lied when he realised Emma didn't remember their kiss.

“Did I do something last night to embarrass myself?” Emma winced at the thought and shifted in her seat.

Killian pressed his lips together and raised his brows with a shake of his head. “Not at all,” he looked away from her.

“Liar,” Emma accused seriously and was just met with another Killian Jones smile that could melt steel.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of the morning after, but we begin in the bedroom of David Nolan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [@WelpThisIsHappening](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WelpThisIsHappening/pseuds/WelpThisIsHappening) for being my beta reader! And for listening to me rave about more ideas i have. and for liking my fanart! And for being an awesome human bean ;) Also, this is my favourite chapter so far - so i hope you guys enjoy it as much and i do!
> 
> I will also post updates to tumblr, so if you wanted to follow me there, i am @artistic-writer.

There were exactly two things in the entire world that David Nolan was sure that he loved. One of them, his job, was dangerous, daring and he had decided early on his life that he wanted nothing more than to be a New York firefighter. There were times when the job was hard, unbearable even, but David never faltered. He was a lieutenant and being responsible for people in his charge was something David was very good at. He was like a dog; kind, friendly and loyal until the end. And the ladies loved him.

_Yeah right._

David had never been lucky with the ladies. He was constantly in the friend zone, relegated to the role of kind older brother. Sure, the ladies said he was cute, but David suspected in the sense that he was a bumbling fool and that they felt sorry for him. Pitied, David Nolan was pitied. That was, until, he met Mary Margaret Blanchard. Subsidising his salary with working for the local take out had been the best thing he had ever agreed to do.

So the second thing was Mary Margaret. Since the first moment he had laid eyes on her, he couldn't forget about her. During the day. At night. In the car. At work. At home. She invaded his every thought and feeling and David had been walking around with a constant smile on his face ever since. Killian had noticed and, irritated by his friends mirth, had suggested they go out and drink some of it off.

David made a note to thank Killian later.

Mary Margaret was asleep next to him, her entire body radiating with an impalpable glow that made David smile. She was facing him, the sky light above her flooding with sunlight and illuminating her skin with a warm, amber hue. David was perched up on one elbow, a benevolent smile fixed on his face that he couldn't seem to shift.

The night before had begun with his nerves getting the better of him at the bar, sitting awkwardly beside Snow for most of the evening. After a few beers he had loosened up and when they had all migrated to a more private booth, David has made sure that he was never far from her side. Mary Margaret was something that he was sure he was addicted to already. He was spellbound and by the time the evening had ended, they were so wrapped up in each other's arms that David wasn't sure where he ended and she began.

Last night had been magical, the stuff of make believe, and David was too busy revelling in his reminisce that he almost didn't notice Snow peel an eye open.

Snow was wearing a smile before she had even opened her eyes. She was sure she could feel David watching her because as silly as it sounded, she felt that connected to him. She was sure she could tell what he was thinking and as she opened both eyes, his smile gave away his most intimate of thoughts. He was laying beside her, a thin grey t shirt covering his upper body and his mousy blonde locks twisted and ruffled.

“Good morning,” She stretched sweetly, letting her body arch into the mattress as she extended her toes and rolled her shoulders. Her feet poked out of the bottom of the comforter and she pulled them back in quickly when they met the cold air.

“Hey,” David smiled back at her as he watched her intently. “This morning is better than previous ones,” he smirked.

Snow blushed a little, burying her face into the edge of the comforter. Her whole body tingled underneath and Snow felt a dull, pleasant ache between her thighs. “And last night?” She mumbled into the pillow.

“It was perfect,” David let his weight fall down onto the bed, his head resting on the pillow beside Snow's.

Snow let a milky white arm snake out from the blanket, trailing a finger down the side of David's face and resting at his lips. _Those lips._ They had been all over her last night, touching every part of her with a devotion that Snow had never known from anyone in her entire life. David was chimerical, alluring and if she was remembering it correctly, a fantastic lover.

“Are you okay?” David interrupted her fantasy with knitted brows.

“Oh, absolutely,” Snow said sweetly, her words as radiant as her smile.

“Are you sure?” David prodded with another one of those oh so charming smiles.

“Yes,” Snow blushed and cupped his prickly cheek in her palm. “I was just thinking about last night...”

“Oh,” David felt his own cheeks flush with pink under her hand. “Was it...?” David stammered.

“It was,” Snow confirmed, reading his mind. _Remarkable. Mind Blowing. Insert adjective here._

“Did you...?” David grinned an opened mouth smile.

“I did,” Snow blushed again, her ruby flushed cheeks as warm as the ache between her thighs.

“You're astounding,” David never took his eyes from Mary Margaret as he breathed the words that he meant so sincerely.

“And you're so cute when you are nervous,” She lifted her face from the pillow and tucked the comforter under her chin some more. She wasn't sure why, but she was suddenly very aware that she was naked and it made her a little nervous. As if reading her thoughts – _he was THAT amazing_ – David rolled away from her for a second, only to return with another of his t shirts clutched in his hand.

“You can put this on if you'd like,” he smiled and turned away from her unable to stop the smile on his lips. David heard the comforter thrown back and Snow sit up.

“And my panties?” Snow asked with a giggle, seeing the tips of his ears blush red at the word. She pulled his shirt over her head, letting her head burst through the neck and trying to smooth down her short, black hair.

“Um...,” David scanned the room quickly, biting his lip when he finally spied the offending garments on the floor by the end of the bed. He moved sideways on the bed, careful to not look around, and plucked them from the floor. David held them over his shoulder and dangled them from a single finger.

Snow reached for them, feeling nowhere near as embarrassed as she thought she would. “My hero,” she said and David could have sworn he could hear her smiling. Snow crawled forward over the bed and pulled the virginal, white panties from David's finger.

“I don't normally do this,” David admitted sheepishly. He fixed his gaze on one of his discarded socks beside the bed, his bulk wobbling from side to side as Snow dressed behind him.

“One night stands?” Snow said it first. There was no other way to describe it. They had gone out, got drunk and ended up tangled up in the sheets of David's bed. It was a dirty word, filled with so many meanings of shame, but Snow felt none of them.

“Yeah.”

“It doesn't have to be,” Snow offered hopefully.

“You mean?” David turned around finally, twisting his body on the mattress as soon as he felt her still. Snow was sitting cross legged on top of the comforter, his shirt hanging over her tiny frame like a sheet over a skeleton. She shrugged her shoulders playfully.

“I mean one time. We can do it again,” she smirked, gripping her fingers into the bare, smooth skin of her shin tightly. David's face lit up like a Christmas tree, his grin stretching from ear to ear.

“I'd like that,” he purred softly, his voice full of sweetness. David crawled up onto his knees and stalked across the small gap between them, pausing when his lips hovered over Snow's. His lips twitched into another smile when she didn't recoil but instead placed both her dainty hands to his cheeks.

“Me too,” she smiled, her eyes flicking down to take in his mouth. Snow could feel his breath on her lips and without hesitation she closed the gap and pressed her smile to his, pulling him on top of her as she fell backwards with a shriek.

  
“Did you hear that?” Emma's eye widened and she jumped from the breakfast stool. It skidded backwards and nearly toppled over before she grabbed it quickly and strained her ears to listen for more of the high pitched shouts she had heard. Years and years of running away from every home that had offered her security meant Emma lived on constant alert.

Killian watched her panic stricken expression and offered her a raised eyebrow and a shake of his head. A light laugh tumbled from his lips as he finished the last pancake in the pan, sliding it onto the monstrous pile he had already created. He walked around the breakfast island, his bare feet sticking to the floor with each step, and put the pancake laden plate next to Emma. The clattering sound made her jump and she spun back to face him.

“Jesus, Jones,” she clutched her hand to her chest quickly.

“You should not be so prepared to run all the time,” Killian observed, pointing an accusing finger at her quickly.

“But...,” Emma was interrupted by a similar shriek and instinctively she took a step towards the sound. Her inner panic button had been well and truly pressed, thumped even, and she felt the adrenaline surge through her body.

Killian's hand shot out and he stopped her in her tracks when she felt his hand wrap itself around her wrist. Killian gulped quickly, his fingertips memorising the feel of her skin. “I'm sure Mary Margaret is fine, Swan.”

Emma's gaze fell to his hand on hers and her already racing heart took off in her chest. “How...How do you know?” she stuttered, not pulling her arm from his grasp immediately but then instantly missing it when Killian let his fingers slip gracefully from her skin.

He turned back to face his pancakes, hoping his lightly stubbled cheeks would hide the creep of a blush. Killian frowned amused and reached for his glass of orange juice. “I'm not sure they are cries of pain,” he lifted his brow again and lifted the glass to his lips with a smirk.

“Oh,” Emma said quickly, hearing the shriek again and then a hearty laugh she knew Mary Margaret only made at certain times in her life. Having been her room mate for so long meant Emma practically knew when her friend was having sex – _a little weird._ “OH!”

“Now she gets it,” Killian teased, offering her a sideways glance of his – Gorgeous – blue eyes.

Emma narrowed her eyes at him and sank back down onto the stool next to him again. “How did you...?”

Killian finished his glass of juice with a gulp and licked his lips furiously, wiping the back of his hand over his stubbled upper lip. “I slept on the couch, remember?” He pinched his eyes closed at the memory. “Mary Margaret is very...”

“I know,” Emma winced and they both froze when a louder, more breathy groan echoed from David's room out into the space around them.

“That's it,” Killian slapped a hand to the breakfast counter, pushing his weight back and hopping from the stool. Emma watched him walk passed her back towards his room. “I simply cannot stay here and listen to...this,” he waved a hand towards David's matching blue sliding door with a grunt.

“Where are you going?” Emma suddenly felt very lost. She had no idea where they were, had no recollection of actually getting to the apartment at all, and if he left she would be alone with just the sounds of David and Snow going at it.   _Gross._

“Anywhere but here,” Killian called back to her, the muscles in his shoulders flexing and turning solid when he grabbed the long, metal handle and yanked the door along its runners.

“Well, if you wait,” Emma hopped from the stool and took after him, holding the edge of the door so he couldn't slide it shut behind him. “I'll come with you.”

Killian looked down at her. She was considerably shorter without heels on and still dressed in his shirt, she seemed smaller and more fragile than he knew she was. He quirked his eyebrow at her and ran his hand over his prickly chin.

“I'm not going to sit here and listen to that either.” Emma pressed her hand to his chest, her fingertips dancing near the edge of his tattoo. Her intention was to push him aside but   
his skin was warmer than she expected and she watched her hand idly.

Killian's gaze dropped to her hand on his chest and he sucked in a breath subtly, trying to elude his sudden fluttering heart. “I could be going anywhere,” he told her, fixing his gaze on her once more.

Emma lifted her head to meet his stare, his blue eyes so mesmerising as they searched her face. Killian's ruffled hair had been hastily flattened but Emma still itched to run her hands through it. _Your boss, Emma. Come on!_ Emma cleared her throat and pulled her hand from his skin quickly. “Yes, well...”

“I won't bite,” Killian teased again when he saw her face turn a little pinker. “Unless you ask me too.”

“Stop,” Emma huffed, pushing passed him finally and entering his bedroom to find her clothes. Killian didn't move a single inch and she was pressed between him and the door frame for a split second, his chiselled body setting her skin on fire through his shirt.   _She had to get out of his shirt_.

“Why?” Killian leaned against the door frame and folded his arms, tucking his gnarled stub out of view.

“Because,” Emma snapped, vexed by his casual attitude.

“Because?” Killian smirked.

“Because you are my boss,” Emma spun to face him again.

“I am,” Killian agreed with a nod. He rearranged himself against the cold wooden frame, crossing one foot over the other.

“And I am sure there is some sort of rule that forbids co-worker relations,” Emma babbled.

“There might be.”

“Might be?” Emma twisted her features at him and frowned, waving her hand in the air.

“Aye,” Killian shrugged again. “There might be.”

“Do you not know your own policies?” Emma shook her head and blinked in disbelief.

“I'd have to check,” Killian pushed himself from the frame and made his way to a door on the other side of the room. Like the main door it was a dark navy blue, but this time it wasn't on a track. Killian reached from the round, brass knob and twisted it. The door opened with a click and he turned back to her once more. Emma could see a white sink and tiled floor and figured it was a bathroom. “It's not come up before.”

Emma sighed exasperated. Maybe it didn't matter. If he, the boss, was so mellow about it, then maybe it wouldn't be so bad.   _God,_ woman _, listen to yourself._

“It isn't coming up now,” Emma told him firmly, crossing her arms over her chest and inhaling the scent of him that lingered on his shirt.

“Of course,” Killian agreed, bowing his head with a nod and disappearing into the bathroom. He left the door open, expecting Emma's anger to rise and for her to stomp after him. Sure enough, she did.

“I mean it, Mr Jones...”

“Mr. Jones?”

“That's your name, isn't it?”

“Aye,” he chuckled amused with her agitation. “But you can call me anything your heart desires.”

Emma ground her teeth together and grabbed her hips with her hands. “My heart desires absolutely nothing from you except a pay check once a month.”

Killian raised his eyebrows at her, standing steadfast and very aggravated in his little en-suite. There wasn't much room for one person, let alone two, but her company was welcomed. Killian would be lying if he didn't think Emma entrancing. She was like no one he had ever met before, her tenacity, courage and passion all shining through at the same time. He could tell she wasn't at all as furious as she was pretending to be and he offered her a coy smile.

“How about a shower?” His lips twitched into a smirk again.

“Excuse me?” Emma snapped, aghast.

“It's not an invitation,” Killian assured her, motioning to the cubicle behind him. “Merely an endeavour of trust.”

Emma eyed him suspiciously, her gaze narrowing but her stance softening. “How so?”

“You can take a shower and I will promise not to look,” Killian laughed so hard he thought he might break a rib and clutched his side quickly.

“I swear to god...” Emma rolled her eyes and spun to leave the room.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Killian chuckled and ran after her quickly. “I'm sorry, forgive me,” he composed himself and darted in front of Emma to halt her hasty escape. “The shower is yours to freshen up. If you'd like.” He enjoyed the games they had played so far, but it seemed he was the only one to remember most of them. “I'm sorry,” Killian said softly, more sincerely and dipped his head to acquire Emma's scowling gaze once more.

Emma snorted a noise from her throat and turned her face from his. “You're not funny,” she shook her head at him and stepped backwards towards the open bathroom door.

Killian cocked his head sideways. “I'm not?” He called after her as Emma disappeared into the bright white room.

“Mr. Jones,” She called, her voice echoing and bouncing from the tiles. Killian waited for more of her words but none came. Instead his gaze was directed to his shirt, the blue material sailing through the air as it was tossed from the room and landing in a heap at his feet. Killian's lips twitched into a grin and he looked up to see Emma leaning around the door frame, her bare shoulder the only thing visible to him.

“Miss Swan?”

“It's Miss Swan now,” Emma raised a brow at his sudden professionalism.

Killian moved to sit on the end of his bed, bending to pick up Emma's red dress on his way and smoothing the material flat when he laid it to the bed beside him. “Well, I am a gentleman,” Killian confirmed and finally looked back over to her. “I told you last night, remember?”

Emma did. In fact, she was starting to remember the whole evening. Down to every detail.

She remembered coming back to the apartment and practically pushing him through the door. She remembered the way he had held her fast, insisting that she was drunk and it was not what she wanted. Emma recalled, in her frustration, shedding all of her clothes and leaning her entire body into his, regaling in the way he squirmed when her nipples has brushed against the fabric of his shirt and tightened instantly.

Killian had a muscle in his jaw that made his ears twitch when he ground his teeth and Emma had licked her finger seductively and trailed it across the tightened nerve suggestively. Emma remembered the seconds afterwards when, through expletives, Killian had shed his shirt and wrapped her up in the fabric, buttoning it quickly and awkwardly with one hand whilst her hands roamed over his bare chest desperately. And then, Emma recalled slumping against his body as sleep took hold of her and nuzzling into the supple skin of his neck when he had lifted her effortlessly and carried her to bed.

She offered him a gracious smile. “I do,” she said simply and Killian matched her grin.

“You do?”

“I do.”

Killian blushed a little and touched his fingertips to his lips. Emma watched him intently and he almost looked pleased that she remembered. “Killian,” She called his name for the first time sober, shaking him from his daydream. His head whipped towards the door way once more and she gave him a soft smile. “Thanks for last night.”

“Oh, it was my pleasure. I do enjoy saying no to a beautiful woman,” he chortled.

“Thank you for that,” Emma said candidly again, reassuring him of her gratefulness. “If we could just forget last night, that would be great.”

“Absolutely not,” Killian shook his head quickly and Emma frowned. “Last night, when you kissed me in that bar, I felt alive. More alive than I have felt for a very long time,” Killian looked down at his stump and run his hands over the scars nervously. Emma watched him and heard the hint of sadness in his words.

“Killian, we...” Emma began but was cut off quickly.

“Emma, I am not going to forget about last night because even though it was less than ideal for a first date, I enjoyed myself. And I know you did too,” Killian's smile faded as he looked up to her again. “I felt it.”

“We can't do this,” Emma said sadly. “We can't date. Last night was not a date.”

“Then go out with me again. You and I. Just us. We can start over.”

“But you'd still be my boss,” Emma almost whined at the admission.

“What are you afraid of, Swan?” Killian's voice rose a little with his frustration and it silenced Emma instantly. “No one has ever looked at me the way that you do, Emma.”

God damn, he said it again. Her name on his lips, a whimper of sorts, sent her reeling every time. She swallowed a dryness in her throat and he continued.

“I want to know more about you, I want to know everything. And If that means you will reject me whilst sober and throw yourself at my feet whilst drunk, than I will take you drinking every night if I have to.”

“Killian...”

“Emma, I mean every word. When you give me your heart, and one day you will, it will be because you want to and not because I have forced you.”

“This is surreal,” Emma sighed an achingly painful breath and her fingernails dug into the soft wood of the door frame.

“It's real, Swan.”

“And what happens when you decide I'm not the thing you want? I'm not the heart you desire?” Emma echoed his words and he frowned at her like she had lost her mind.

“That would never happen,” Killian smiled at her.

“You don't know that. People change. They find more interesting things to keep them company.”

Killian watched her rant and regarded her with a crooked glare. “What was his name?” He asked quickly, sudden anger rising in the back of his throat.

“I'm sorry, what?” Emma wrinkled her nose and felt her skin flush.

“His name,” Killian repeated slower. “The fool who let you go. The fool who clearly hurt you.”

Emma felt another hard lump form at the back of her tongue and without a second thought, the name fell from her mouth before she could stop it. “Neal.”

Killian pushed himself to his feet and took two wide strides towards her. Emma's skin prickled and she gripped to the frame harder, pressing her body into the cold tiled wall to hide her modesty. Killian stayed firmly on the bedroom side of the wall but plucked her fingers from the frame gently and held them in his hand as he traced his thumb over the ridges of her knuckles. “I'm sorry.”

Emma watched his features and watched his ears bob up slightly when he offered her a weak smile. “Why are you sorry?” Emma said defensively, her walls instantly rebuilding themselves following the slip up of her ex's name.

“For Neal.”

“I don't follow.”

Killian lifted Emma's hand up, her wrist bending to curve over his extended finger as he brought her hand to his lips. He kept her gaze and pressed his lips to the back of her hand slowly, letting his lips linger on the softness of her skin. “He has no idea what he has let go,” Killian said smoothly.

“And you think you know?”

Killian let his body jerk forward with a snort. “One day, I will know more than you ever thought possible. You are a closed book Emma, begging to be opened and cherished.”

Emma stared at him harder, letting her fingers grip onto his as he toyed with them idly. “And you just happen to be the man for the job, right? The pirate who is going to loot the pages of my life and find my hidden treasure?”

Killian squeezed her hand. “You are the treasure, Emma. Let me show you.”

Emma was torn between ripping her hand from his and retreating back into herself once again and agreeing to a date. How bad can a date with your boss actually be?   _You need to stop seeing him as your boss. He is a man. A man who wants to get to know you and is offering everything unconditionally._ Emma had plenty of reason to disregard everything Killian had said. She had heard it all before. She had fallen for it before. But this felt different, it felt sincere.

_It feels right._

“Okay,” she almost whispered.

“Okay?” Killian asked quickly, his eyes widening with excitement. He reminded Emma of a puppy and was just as cute. She nodded and gave him a bashful smile.

“One date. I'll go out with you. It will be proper...”

“Of course...”

“..And innocent...”

“...Nothing less...”

“...And there will be less rum,” Emma blushed.

“There will be no rum. I want you to remember it this time,” Killian let her hand go quickly so she could retreat to the shower. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma & Snow have a little chat following their evening with the boys!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [@WelpThisIsHappening](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WelpThisIsHappening/pseuds/WelpThisIsHappening) for being my beta reader! You and your speed reading are my hero! <3
> 
> I will also post updates to tumblr, so if you wanted to follow me there, i am @artistic-writer.

Emma and Snow had finally left the apartment. Emma had taken Killian up on his offer of a shower, his words racing through her mind as the hot water had washed away the smoke and alcohol from the night before.  
  
_'You are a treasure, Emma. Let me show you.'_  
  
They didn't help. Instead she just felt more conflicted.   
  
When Emma had finished her shower, her skin still damp and smelling of his shower gel, Killian was gone. Wrapped in one of his huge, dark grey towels, Emma had dripped cooled water onto the floor as she had exited the bathroom to dress. Everything smelled of him and Emma was invaded by his scent when it surrounded her in the bedroom. It was familiar, a woody spice smell that Emma found pleasing, but it was also only faintly lingering where he had left.  
  
On the bed Emma had found a note, the hastily scrawled script looping and swirling in an old fashioned longhand that made her already searing skin glow even more.  
  
_'Swan, hate to leave this way but there is a work emergency. On a_ bloody _Sunday. I look forward to your first day tomorrow where I will be nothing but professional. I promise. Have no fear. Our date is our little secret. Killian.'_  
  
  
Emma wasn't exactly sure what she had gotten herself into. She hadn't known anyone to ever actually date their boss, but it could only go one of two ways. Killian would be everything he was promising; loving, kind, caring, dashingly handsome on her arm and they would live happily ever after. Or, the more likely option in her eyes, Killian would be exactly like every other man in her life; love her, leave her and the wake of emotional destruction would have to be picked up piece by piece and repaired by her friend. Again.  
  
And she would probably get fired. It would just be awkward to go to work each day and see him. The more she thought of the consequences of the date going wrong, Emma wished he had just slept with her last night and set her mind at ease. At least if she knew what he was like she could stop imagining it at the most inappropriate times. Or watching the bob in his throat when he swallowed. Or the curve of his lips when he smiled at her boyishly.  
  
_God damn_ it _Emma. Get a hold of yourself._  
  
Emma had been daydreaming, her thoughts drifting off into the proposed date and her stomach flipping with a mixture of anxiety and excitement. If she thought about it enough, her anxiety won over and she would fall silent. Most of the afternoon she had been wishing that she could be more excited, but there wasn't just a wall between Emma and the rest of the world. The biggest barrier was between her head and her heart, and so far, she was being far too rational.  
  
Snow offered a brief escape from her musings. They had been home only a few hours but she was very uncharacteristically eager to talk about David and last night. Emma was a good friend, patient and indulgent, even if she was invested in learning as little about David Nolan in that respect as she possibly could.  
  
“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Emma shuffled herself around on the couch so she was facing her friend once more. Snow had a cushion huddled to her chest, her chin hidden behind the houndstooth patterned fabric square. Her eyes were slightly squinted and Emma knew she was smiling behind the pillow. “Three times?”  
  
Snow made a small squeaking noise and pinched her eyes closed as she nodded. “It was something else,” Snow's muffled words were on the verge of a whisper.  
  
“Wow. Three times?” Emma repeated on a breathy laugh. She couldn't quite believe that her best friend/room mate/surrogate sister had slept with David on their first night out together. Let alone three times.  
  
“I know!” Snow pushed the pillow from her face and let her head fall back onto the back of the couch.   
  
“Did you...you know...?” Emma asked quickly, but Snow's grin gave her the answer she wanted.  
  
“I did. Every time,” Snow said seriously, trying to hide her glee. She focused on a spot on the ceiling and Emma noticed her lips twitch into a smile.  
  
“Stop reliving it whilst I'm here! Emma poked her friend hard in the arm and Snow giggled, blushing her trademark ruby colour.  
  
“I'm sorry! I can't help it!”  
  
Emma conceded that she probably wouldn't be talking about anything else that evening and relaxed back into the couch cushions. They wrapped around her shoulders, hugging her frame generously, and she grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch to throw over her legs. New York was a lot colder than the town she called home. Storybrooke, however, was wetter, and had much more rainfall.  
  
“Okay,” Emma wiggled a little to get more comfortable. “Tell me everything.” Snow was practically at bursting point, and she inhaled sharply to begin her tale.  
  
“Oh Emma, he was such a gentleman,” she began, interlocking her fingers and holding her balled fists under her chin.   
  
“Yuh huh,” Emma teased, kicking the blanket a little until it covered her feet. Snow continued her babble.  
  
“He was so sweet and tender...”  
  
“You were drunk.” Emma blew her cheeks out and made a grunt in her throat, her body lurching into a fake heave.  
  
“Oh come on, don't be such a cynic,” Snow chastised and slapped Emma's feet.  
  
“Snow. Darling. I love you, I really do, but David can't be that amazing...”  
  
“But that's just it, Emma! He was! He is! David is so much more than a one night stand.”  
  
“Is that what you want?” Emma tried to hide the jealousy in her voice. She could share Mary Margaret for one night, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to be a third wheel. “Did he ask you to be his girlfriend?”  
  
“Well, not exactly,” Snow shrugged her shoulders and disappointment laced her words.  
  
“What do you mean?” Emma looked at her with a knitted brow. She rearranged herself again on the couch so that her knees were pressed together and pulled to her chest. She let them rest against the back cushion of the couch and stretched her toes out in her socks.  
  
Snow gave her a slightly unknowing glance and rolled her shoulders again. She reached up and pushed a few strands of her pixie cut hair style behind her ear, moistening her lips with her tongue before she spoke again. Emma watched her intently, knowing that she was conflicted about something.  
  
“Snow?” Emma prompted her friend when she seemed to drift off into lost thought.  
  
“Hmm?” Snow asked quickly, nothing more than a sound in the back of her throat.  
  
“What do you mean, not exactly?”  
  
“There wasn't a lot of talking,” Snow wiggled her eyebrows at Emma but her smile had faded.  
  
“So, he didn't ask you?” Emma asked to clarify. Snow shook her head, pulling her lips into a tight smile. David had not asked Snow to be his girlfriend and Snow looks positively sodden. “Well, that doesn't mean he won't,” Emma offered, faking her best enthusiastic voice.  
  
“And what if he doesn't?” Snow panicked. “What if I was a one night stand?”  
  
Emma's expression softened and she crawled across the couch towards Snow, pulling her friend into a massive hug. Emma lifted her blanket draped arm and threw it around them both, pressing her cheek to the top of Snow's head. The feisty, fiery, tenacious Mary Margaret had been extinguished and replaced with a shell of a human who had just realised she might have been used.   
  
“David is...” Emma began, but Snow cut her off with a rapid succession of ramblings.  
  
“What if he doesn't like me?”  
  
“I'm sure...”  
  
“What if he used me because he needed to scratch an itch?”  
  
“Snow, I don't think...”  
  
“What if he does this all the time! I mean, why else would a firefighter deliver Chinese?” Snow had switched into angry and her filter had well and truly left the building. She waved her arms around, pointing to anything and everything accusingly.  
  
“He's a firefighter?” Emma craned her neck to look at Snow.  
  
“Not the point,” She sat up and shook her head dismissively.  
  
“Well, what is your point?” Emma coaxed and Snow paused, giving her a frustrated expression. “I'm sorry, Mary Margaret. You just went into full on rant mode and I'm confused.”  
  
Snow's entire body sagged back against the huge, downy cushions of the couch and she blew out a breath. “Me too,” she said sadly.  
  
“Look,” Emma sat forward and let the blanket fall from her. It pooled across their laps and she felt the instant chill in the room. “David is a good guy. I can tell he likes you, and the way he looks at you...” Emma gave her friend a soft smile.   
  
“You think so?” Snow's lips twitched at the corners and her rosy cheeks peaked hot again.  
  
Emma nodded and took Snow's hand in hers. “Of course,” Emma said sincerely. “David is not that guy,” she shook her head. “He will ask you, I'm sure of it.”  
  
Emma had never seen anybody look at anybody the same way David looked at Snow. It was like he was blinded by her beauty, stumbling over his words and desperately trying to hide the tremble in his voice every time he spoke to her. Emma could tell that he liked her a lot – more than a lot – and he probably just hadn't asked her because he was shy.  
  
“He probably had so much running through his mind when you baffled him with your beauty that he didn't know what to think!” Snow finally smiled at Emma's words, gripping her fingers around Emma's thankfully.  
  
“You really think that he thinks I am pretty?” Snow said shyly, her grin returning to her round face.  
  
“Come on, really?” Emma's eyes went wide and she laughed loudly. “Let's just say nobody looks at me like that.”  
  
Snow snorted through her nose. “Are you kidding?”  
  
“What?” Emma was genuinely perplexed.  
  
“Nobody looks at you like that,” Snow echoed her words with a smirk.  
  
“Well, they don't,” Emma racked her brain, trying to connect the dots Snow was drawing out in front of her.  
  
“Have you forgotten about Killian Jones already?” Snow beamed.  
  
Emma hadn't forgot about him, or their impending date. She just wasn't sure how she felt about it.  
  
“It's complicated,” Emma looked away, folding her arms over her chest quickly.  
  
“Oh no,” She shook her head and leaned towards Emma's side of the couch. “No walls,” she said sternly grabbing Emma's arms and pulling them open again. “Not with me.”  
  
Ever since they were kids, Emma's defence was what they both referred to as “the walls”. When Emma felt threatened or vulnerable, she would cross her arms over her chest, wrapping her hands around the crook of her elbows and pulling them tightly. Emma had always thought that if her body language was aggressive enough, people would leave her alone. That was, until she met Mary Margaret Blanchard and everything changed.  
  
For the first time in her life, Emma had made a friend. Mary Margaret, like every other kid in the group home, was touchy and quarrelsome with everyone that she met. She trusted no one and Emma had felt exactly the same until the moment Mary Margaret had, for whatever reason, shown her kindness. It was a simple gesture, nothing to write down in the pages of history, but the second she had passed Emma the red crayon and given her a cherub faced smile, Emma knew that she didn't need the walls anymore. She knew Snow would be there for her, and she had let her in.  
  
  
_“You can have the red crayon now. I'm Mary Margaret by the way.”_  
  
_“That's a long name. Why would I want the red crayon?”_  
  
_“What's yours? I use the red crayon when I am feeling angry.”_  
  
_“It doesn't matter, no one remembers it. I'm not angry.”_  
  
_“I will. We can be non-angry friends if you'd like.”_  
  
_“Okay.”_  
  
_“Okay.”_  
  
_“I'm Emma.”_  
  
  
Emma sighed, letting her arms go floppy as Snow pulled at them. “Last night was...” She began but the now overtly enthusiastic Snow was back and jumped back in her seat.  
  
“Emma, did you two?” Snow wiggled her eyebrows playfully, biting her lip.  
  
“No!”  
  
“How?” Snow laughed, covering her mouth quickly with her hand.  
  
“What do you mean, 'How'?” Emma laughed back.  
  
“Well, If I remember correctly, when we were all in a cab heading back to their place, you and Killian were very....”  
  
“Very what?” Emma asked suspiciously. “I don't remember at all.”  
  
“Let's just say, there wasn't much getting between you two.”  
  
“Oh god...” Emma let her face fall forward, catching it with two open palms. By the sound of it, she had practically molested her boss in the back of a cab, and she seemed to be the only person who didn't remember it. Emma let her hands hide her face, concealing her own blush that had crept onto his cheeks, as the sound of Snow's laughter filled her ears.  
  
“I was pretty sure you two were going to...” Snow nudged her chin forward and raised her eyebrows.  
  
“Snow, you can say 'do it' or 'have sex',” Emma giggled. “You are an adult now. We can say rude words and swear and everything.”  
  
Snow had always been the calmer of the two women, mainly holding in all of her sass and discordance until she absolutely had to let it out. It also overflowed into her reluctance to swear or say rude words. In fact, Emma had been surprised when Snow had insisted on talking about David so openly. She was normally such a private person when it came to her love life, which was another reason Emma liked David a little bit more. He made her friend open up, come out of herself and blossom into the woman Emma knew and loved but rarely saw.  
  
Snow rolled her eyes. “I was pretty sure you two were going to have sex,” She emphasized the last word, proving once and for all that was wasn't a prudish as Emma may have thought. Emma just offered her a smile.  
  
“Yes, well,” Emma left her sentence half finished and shuffled away to the other end of the couch. Her gaze drifted across the floor, idling on some convenient furniture near by.  
  
“Didn't you want to?” Snow asked intrigued as to why her friend hadn't actually gone through with it. In her experience, Emma was much more confident than she was and it was unlikely Emma would have declined the advances of a man as handsome as Killian Jones.  
  
“Apparently, a little too eagerly,” Emma chuckled to herself and then looked back over to Snow with a blanched expression. “I practically threw myself at him.”  
  
“Oh,” Snow was taken back.   
  
“Yeah, I got naked and everything,” Emma cringed.  
  
“Oh no,” Snow sang sympathetically. “So, what happened?”  
  
“Nothing,” Emma shrugged and nudged her head sideways. “He took off his shirt, covered me up and put me to bed.”  
  
Snow sucked in a breath, hissing through her teeth. She could tell Emma was embarrassed by the way she had acted, but could also tell that she was sitting at the other end of the couch wishing she could take it back. “What did he say this morning?”  
  
“Before or after we had breakfast?” Emma smiled. _The pancakes were phenomenal._  
  
“You guys had breakfast? Together?”  
  
“I suspect he made enough for four people as there were four glasses of orange juice, but you know, the funny thing was, my roommate and her date never came out of their room.” Emma smirked at Snow who gasped and looked away quickly.  
  
“So what happened after breakfast?”  
  
“We had a little talk,” Emma didn't commit to an answer. “And then when I got out of the shower, he was gone.”  
  
Snow had been so distracted with peeling herself from David, that when they had finally emerged from his room in the mid morning, the lingering scent of sweat and magnetism smeared over both of their bodies, she had barely noticed Killian's absence.   
  
“It was a little awkward,” Emma agreed with Snow's silence.  
  
“What did he say? What did you say? What's going to happen tomorrow?” Snow peppered the questioning in rapid succession.  
  
“Stuff,” Emma shrugged. “I'm going to go to work like nothing has happened,” She told Snow firmly. “Because nothing has.”  
  
“Come on, Emma. Don't 'Emma Swan' me. I know there is more to it than you are letting on.” It was Snow's turn to be forceful, her arms crossing tightly across her chest and her teacher voice making its first appearance. If she was standing, Emma had no doubt she would be tapping her toe against the worn floorboards and eagerly awaiting a school girl confession.  
  
“Nothing gets passed you, does it?” Emma quirked her brow and rolled her bottom lip between her teeth.  
  
“Nothing.” _Teacher voice._  
  
Emma lamented. “He said he was sorry for Neal...”  
  
“You told him about Neal?” Snow sounded a mixture between surprised and angry, probably because the mere mention of him made her blood boil.  
  
“Not exactly. He knew it was one of the reasons I am so closed off.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“I don't know,” Emma whined exasperated. “He just knew I'd been hurt before and said that I was a 'treasure' and that I should let him show me how valuable I really am.”  
  
If there was a photographic description of a swoon, Mary Margaret was it. Her shoulders sagged, her entire body softening and almost melting into the couch. Her stern expression changed instantly, her cheeks peaking rosy once more and her smile widening on her face. Her fingers clutched at the edge of the blanket, dragging it from Emma's body as she pulled it to her chest and let a girly moan escape from her throat.  
  
“And we are going on a date.”  
  
Snow squealed and bounced on the cushion, her high pitched whirr making Emma jump. Emma's hand shot up to her chest, clutching the fabric of her sweater over her heart. She rolled her eyes and exhaled hard, shooting Snow a glare.  
  
“I'm sorry!” She chimed, her grin still plastered firmly on her face. “This is so exciting!”  
  
“It's just a date, Snow.”  
  
“But you haven't been on a date since...you know.”  
  
Neal had practically become _Voldermort_ in their house. Wherever they lived, whatever happened in their lives, they had forbid themselves from saying his name. They wouldn't give him the satisfaction, or waste their breath uttering his moniker. Neal had done something so disgusting that even speaking his name made them both shiver.   
  
Snow had been there for Emma when she needed her the most, wiping away her tears and slowly erasing the damage he had done, but the whole experience had left Emma a shell of her former self. She was so reluctant to date, constantly swapping real connections with fruitless flings, that Snow worried she would never find true love. Even if Emma didn't believe in true love, it didn't mean Snow didn't want her to be happy.  
  
“I know,” Emma said, half scared and half in agreement.  
  
Emma hadn't wanted to date since _he who shall not be named_ smashed her fortitude into a million tiny shards and then when she was most reliant on him, had thrown her to the curb. Emma had lived in a constant fear of never being good enough, for anyone, and Killian was no excuse. If he wasn't her boss, Emma would have slept with him in a heartbeat, knowing she wouldn't have to commit to the morning after and would gone just as quickly as she had come into his life. The fact that he was her boss gave her time to pause and reflect on her options, and she had decided that she wouldn't be able to have her cake and eat it.  
  
Killian Jones bewildered Emma. She didn't know how, but he made her feel scared to death and serene at the same time. And as much as it petrified her to say yes to him, Emma had, and she wanted to know more about the man behind the roguish smile and words of endearment.  
  
“Why now?” Snow shook her inattention by gripping her wrist and giving it a small squeeze. Emma had brought home plenty of men since Neal. “Why Killian Jones?”  
  
A small smile crept across Emma's face and it was a genuine joy that Snow hadn't seen in a long time.  
  
“Do you have to ask?”  
  
“I want you to say it out loud. Then I know, and you know, it means something this time.”  
  
Emma's cheeks pinked and she bowed her head, letting her lightly curled blonde hair shield her face and her growing smirk.  
  
“I really like him, Snow. I like him a lot.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma's first day at work does not exactly go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [@WelpThisIsHappening](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WelpThisIsHappening/pseuds/WelpThisIsHappening) for being my beta reader! You and your speed reading are my hero! <3
> 
> I will also post updates to tumblr, so if you wanted to follow me there, i am @artistic-writer.

There was nothing like being prompt on your first day, but Emma was maybe being a little too eager. Her shift was supposed to start at eight, but she was eager to get to _Granny's_ and sort out some paperwork. She would after all have a ton of forms to fill in, sign, and then there was the inevitable health and safety training.  
  
_Etcetera. Etcetera._  
  
Emma had been told she would be opening with the waitress that had first greeted her. Ruby was nice. Emma liked her so far. She had a sweet, fast talking nature and was kind but Emma knew she would also take ill from no man. She was witty and, not unlike a hound, fiercely loyal.  
  
Emma strode down the street confidently, one foot in front of the other as she dodged lazy morning passers by on their way to work. Emma often saw people at this time of the morning more often than not. She had been a barista for a long time, moving between coffee shops and never staying in the same place for too long. She never wanted to be tied down to one place, and luckily for Emma, coffee shops were abundant.  
  
The first customers of the day had not yet had their morning fix of caffeine. Emma rarely drank the stuff anymore, instead opting for the luxuriously thick, creamy texture of a hot chocolate. It was always topped with whipped cream and sprinkled with cinnamon, just the way she liked it. It was more than enough to set her up for the day. But people...people were different.  
  
Coffee zombies. People were coffee zombies. The walking dead. Slaves to the thrall of the bitter, nutty notes of their morning beverage. Most people could not function without it, stepping through the doors of whatever shop she happened to work at, and ordering their daily dose of uppers. Emma knew it took at least fifteen minutes for the effects of caffeine to kick in, by which time most people had added their preferred poison in the form of white or brown granulated sweetness, and been well on their way to work.  
  
The morning lull often came around nine because most people had been in commute before then. You had the odd straggler. That one person who was running late, having overslept of snoozed through their alarm for too long, was often so in a rush they ordered the quickest, blackest coffee they could and was out the door before Emma could wish them a nice day. Always a morning person, Emma had never overslept a day in her life.  
  
Today was no exception. She had barely slept all night, but she wasn't sure if it was the anticipation of her first day or her first date. If truth be told, Emma had not been thinking about much else. So far she had only agreed to a date. She would show up and the rest was up to him. She hoped.  
  
The outside of _Granny's_ looked different. Emma frowned as she rounded the corner, her feet falling silently on the pavement in her little black flats. The morning was clouded with a low hanging mist that had rolled in from the nearby docks and it was nearly impossible to see the neon sign hanging to the right of the building. It seemed eerily odd, the entire store front encased in a fluffy, white cloud that hid the windows from view.  
  
Emma had never seen New York so early in the morning, and had never been so close to a waterfront before. It was unusual, but not unwelcome, a small smile creepy across her lips at the sight. Emma just hoped that when she finally made it up the rickety white steps, she wouldn't be grabbed by a tentacled beast like in one of her favourite horror movies.  
  
Emma found the door unlocked when she pushed it but the sign was turned around. To everyone outside, the diner was closed, and the red neon sign indicating otherwise was turned off. There were no lights on inside the diner, only the partial yellowed glow from the kitchen flooding out onto the back bar area. Emma stepped inside tentatively, clutching her brown leather bag to her side with both hands.  
  
“Hello?” She called out quietly, almost silent to her own ears. There was a pause and then the steeling rumble of the coffee machine running a pressure check made her jump out of her skin. The sound ended with a clunk, the wiggling white pressure gauge arrow falling back to its zero position. Emma clutched her hand to her chest, extending a blink and letting out the breath she had been holding. “Shit.”  
  
Another sound made her jump again, this time it had come from the kitchen area. It sounded like an entire trolley of crockery had toppled over, smashing upon impact with the floor. Emma heard a curse, then her instinct of many years experience kicked in, and she almost ran to the kitchen. Her bag was thrown onto the counter as she ran, heart pounding in her chest, hoping beyond all hope that she wasn't about to find a disaster on her first day.  
  
“Bloody hell.”  
  
Emma pushed the white swing door hard, her face nearly pressing against the porthole window at her eye level. She was so close her breath fogged up the glass in the brief second she was on the outside of the kitchen. She skidded to a stop, broken crockery in several sharp pieces littering the floor in front of her, and Killian Jones was standing on the other side of the mess. His cheeks were blown out in frustration and he was rubbing a hand over his brow.  
  
“Are you okay?” Emma interrupted him staring at the floor, toeing a half broken teapot with her foot.  
  
Killian groaned, shaking his head from side to side. His cheeks flushed red, from embarrassment or anger Emma was not sure, but he quickly swung his prosthetic behind his back. Emma watched him intently, taking in his sudden shyness.  
  
“Killian, are you okay?” Emma prodded again, noticing a broom to her side. She moved to it instantly, grabbing the long, plastic handled brush and pushing against the heavy mess on the non-slip floor.  
  
“Fine, love,” Killian snapped, twisting his body away from her and hunching over a little. Emma eyed him suspiciously, knowing instantly that something was wrong. She couldn’t see what he was doing, but she could tell he was in pain.  
  
“You’re not,” Emma said sternly, setting the broom aside once more. It hit the wall with a clatter, threatening to slide sideways until she pushed it back into position. Emma stepped around the pile of smashed mugs, cups and teapots and reached out for his shoulder. Killian relaxed instantly when her warm fingertips brushed the cotton of his tee shirt, his skin underneath itched for more of her touch.  
  
Emma flattened her palm over the curve of his shoulder ball, and without saying a word, managed to get to the bottom of his odd behaviour. Killian spun to look at her slowly, his rosy cheeks still flushed and he looked down at his prosthetic hand. His whole left arm seemed longer somehow, and Emma watched the muscle in his jaw twitch and flex as he gritted his teeth.  
  
Looking down Emma could see that somehow Killian’s brace had become unaligned with his stump. His short sleeves tee was sporting some light brown coffee stains and fluffy white flour swipes down the right side where he had clearly wiped his hand and missed his apron. Emma wasn’t sure how his brace worked, but with the short sleeves, she could actually now see it.  
  
Until now, Emma had just seen Killian in a long sleeve shirt - _or no shirt_ \- and she had no idea how his hand was actually attached. Emma had seen Killian’s stump, his purple scars jumping out at her and setting off a pang of sympathy in her heart. Emma couldn’t imagine what he had been through and how he had adapted his life after his accident, but seeing it now helped her see.  
  
His otherwise modernly sculpted prosthetic was fixed to his forearm in the most archaic of fashions. Long, black leather straps laid flat against his arm, pulled tight and looped through a buckle in two places. Emma followed another strip of leather that disappeared up under his sleeves, presumably to where it was held it place on his shoulder. If she squinted hard enough, Emma could see the shadow of the leather straps under his white tee too.  
  
“What happened?” Emma coaxed gently, watching the wince of pain flash across his face.  
  
“Bloody trolley toppled over,” Killian waved his hand at the metal cage that lay nearby, half filled with crockery, half of which had spilled out and, despite the spongy, non slip floor, had bashed together and broken. “I forgot myself and tried to grab it,” Killian huffed, frustrated with himself.  
  
Emma didn’t need to ask to know that Killian had tried to stop the inevitable with his prosthetic. The cage of crockery would have been far too heavy for anyone to have stopped with a real hand, let alone a fake one. Killian rolled his shoulder a little, clearly uncomfortable.  
  
“Well, that wasn’t very clever,” Emma offered lightly, trying to make him smile.  
  
Killian snorted in his throat, and wiggled his eyebrows in agreement. “Aye, you are correct.”  
  
Emma watched his features twist again and she searched his face for the answer to his ill. “Killian?” She prompted gently, giving his shoulder a little squeeze. This was probably the most intimate contact she had so far remembered having with him, and it felt so natural.  
  
“My brace…,” Killian almost didn’t finish his sentence. Being ashamed of his injury was something buried deep within him, and he never wanted anyone to see him so vulnerable. Especially Emma.  
  
Emma’s let her hand slip down his arm, bumping over the ridges of his upper arm muscles and coming to rest against his forearm. Emma watched her hands reach the now stretched and tattered leather straps of his brace and without a second thought, she began to undo the small, brass buckle.  
  
“Swan, wait,” Killian pulled his arm back, looking away from her and swallowing hard. The fact that Emma was standing in the kitchen of his diner, touching him, unbuckling the brace that had held him back so far and she wasn’t even bothered in the slightest, made him uneasy.  
  
“What? Why?” Emma asked quickly, reaching for his arm once again. She grabbed the thinned trunk of his forearm and pulled it back towards her. Killian winced again, the buckle digging into his skin uncomfortably.  
  
“It’s just…”  
  
“Killian,” Emma said sternly, looking into the dark blue hue of his eyes as her fingers worked on unfastening the buckles. “You are clearly in pain,” Emma nodded at him as she managed to free one of the buckles. She felt him relax a little. “Now is not the time to be embarrassed.”  
  
Killian’s mouth was slightly agape and all he could feel was the warmth of her fingers against his forearm. Her touch made his scars burn, but the pain was a welcome distraction from the slipped buckles digging into his skin. Emma unfastened the last buckle and the whole contraption went slack in her hands, Killian’s hand coming loose and falling into hers.  
  
“There,” Emma exclaimed triumphantly, smiling up at him. Killian wasn’t that much taller than she was, especially when they were both in flat shoes, and she held the cold, metallic material of his prosthetic to her chest. “How’s that?”  
  
Killian only now realised how close they were standing and he felt his breath leave him once more. The dull sting in his forearm had receded now and he looked down to inspect his stump. The buckles had only broke the skin slightly and there was no blood, only dark purple and red dotted indents in his skin. It was hardly noticeable with his other scars, but Killian rubbed at them anyway.  
  
“Better,” He smiled at her, letting the breath he held out slowly. “Thank you.”  
  
“No problem.”  
  
Then there was silence again. Both of them stood in each other’s space, just simply gazing into the other’s eyes. Emma felt a little weird, holding onto his hand, but Killian made no attempts to take it from her. Instead, he lifted his other hand and brushed his fingers over the point of her elbow and Emma shivered. Killian’s eyes flicked to her lips and he felt his heart speed up in his chest.  
  
Killian had every intention of kissing her. It seemed to be overdue by now and the one time they had kissed, they were both drunk and Emma had initiated it. Despite the circumstances surrounding it, Killian could not stop thinking about how her lips had felt on his or how she had pushed so eagerly against his tongue with hers that she had left a comfortable bruise against his mouth.  
  
Killian wanted to experience it again. There was nothing more exhilarating than being in her presence and he wanted to feel this way forever. All of the pain in his arm had gone now, leaving just a gentle throbbing in his shoulder where it had been pulled from the socket. Luckily, Killian had let go in time, or they would have been dealing with a dislocation.  
  
Emma looked up at him through her eyelashes and felt her grip of his prosthetic tighten. She wasn’t sure why she was so nervous right now, but she felt petrified. It was a good feeling, but there were still twinges of doubt in the back of her mind and she gulped hard. She wanted to thrash her hands through his hair, grab onto the trunk of his neck and crush her lips to his again.  
  
_It’s your first day, Emma. Stop this._  
  
Emma reacted instantly and stepped backwards, turning her head away from him and inhaling hard. Killian sucked in a breath too, plucking his prosthetic from Emma’s grasp and turning to inspect the pile of broken cups on the floor. It was like they were avoiding each other, both suddenly shy and reserved.  
  
“You are early,” Killian observed, breaking the silence between them suddenly.  
  
Emma was sure she had convinced herself she had arrived early for administration purposes, but she couldn’t deny she was hoping to see her boss a little more before she began her shift. She wasn’t expecting to see him alone though. It was easier to be around Killian when other people were involved because Emma Swan simply did not trust herself.  
  
“It’s a good job I am,” Emma moved to kneel beside the broken china, lifting the bigger pieces from the floor.  
  
“Here, let me help,” Killian grabbed a huge, grey oblong tray from underneath the nearby dishwasher and slid it toward her. He knelt down beside Emma and began pinching the shattered parts between his fingers tentatively. Killian deposited them into the tray and they ground and crunched against each other as the pile got larger.  
  
“It’s okay,” Emma motioned towards his lack of hand. “I got it.”  
  
Killian pursed his lips together a little and frowned. “I made the mess,” he insisted. “Let me help.”  
  
This was ridiculous. They were arguing over who was going to clear up the disaster, each grabbing at the largest pieces with haste. It was all they could do to distract themselves from each other, and as they hastily moved their hands over each other, Emma felt a deep burning sting across her palm.  
  
“Ouch!” Emma squeaked.  
  
“Emma, what’s wrong?” Killian said worriedly, using her name again the way that made her skin come alive.  
  
“Son of a bitch,” Emma mumbled to herself, the sting in her palm beginning to throb and feel wet.  
  
Hissing, Emma pulled her hand back and clutched it to her chest. Her fingers reflexively closed over her palm and she let out a pained moan. She peeled her hand open slowly, the thick, red trickle of blood running down her skin and marking her wrist. The cut was deep enough to hurt, stretched across the lines of her palm and between her fingers. Emma stood up quickly and held her hand up, clenching her jaw as the site of the wound now begun to tingle.  
  
“Swan, give me your hand,” Killian commanded softly, grabbing her wrist and turning her hand over in front of him.  
  
“What?” Emma said shortly, watching the pulse in her wrist pump blood through the slice on each beat of her heart.  
  
“Your hand,” Killian insisted firmly until she looked up at him. “It’s cut, let me help.”  
  
“No, no, it’s fine,” Emma shrugged and stepped back from him but Killian held her wrist tight, stopping her from getting away from him.  
  
“No, it’s not.” Killian’s blue eyes bore deep into hers and she was lost for a second, relaxing into his grip.  
  
“Such a gentleman,” Emma smiled weakly, letting Killian inspect her hand as he tugged her towards the big, silver sink basin. Killian turned on the taps, testing the water for warmth before pushing Emma’s hand under the cold flow. Emma pulled back but Killian held her hand in place, waiting for the needle-like pain to subside from her palm.  
  
“I’m always a gentleman,” He raised a brow and then when he was sure she would keep her hand under the running water, he shuffled sideways into the kitchen prep area and began rifling through a few cupboard.  
  
Emma watched him with a frown. She had no idea what he was doing, or what he was looking for, but she knew that she missed the skin contact of his hands on her arm. With a content hum, Killian returned with a small, squared bottle. It had no label and was slightly dusty in a leather stitched casing, a big, fat cork stuffed into its neck. Using his teeth, Killian pulled the cork free and spat the cork aside where it bounced on the draining board.  
  
Emma let him lift her hand from under the water willingly. It had gone more than numb under the cold flow and it had started to turn ghostly white. The flow of blood had slowed down and Killian inspected it once more as he poured the dark brown liquid from the bottle over her wound.  
  
Emma gasped and cried out, her eyes going wide. “AHHH! Oh! What the hell is that?” She shrieked, her voice bouncing around the empty kitchen.  
  
“It’s rum,” Killian told her matter of factly, watching the pungent liquid wash over Emma’s hand. His lips twisted into a small smile and he ran his tongue over his lips. “And a bloody waste of it.”  
  
Emma looked at him chagrined. Placing the rum bottle on the aluminium side with a clonk, Killian reached behind his waist where a crisp, clean, white towel was hanging from his back pocket. Killian whipped it out from behind him and flicked it out to the side, letting the material uncurl.  
  
Killian wrapped it around her hand, deciding that the cut was a little too deep to be stemmed with just a band aid. The material instantly turned pink as Emma’s blood soaked hand was covered and Killian watched his work closely, making sure to cover the whole wound with the material.  
  
Emma watched him lavish her hand with attention. Killian looked up at her with a simple roll of his eyes, leaning forward and pulling the end of the towel between his teeth. Emma’s stomach flipped over on itself and she felt the hair on her neck stand to attention. Killian’s scruff brushed over her wrist and she felt a her cheeks turn hot and pink.  
  
“How does that feel, love?” Killian tucked the end of the towel into her palm and Emma closed her fingers. Killian laid his over the top, holding her hand closed with his.  
  
Emma swallowed a lump down her throat. “It’s fine,” Emma lied.  
  
Killian grinned at her and his tongue darted out over his lips. “Oooo, you’re a tough lass,” he raised his brow at her and made sure she held her hand aloft.  
  
Emma returned his smile and softened slightly. “Ok, so it hurts like hell, but today is my first day in a new job,” Emma sighed dramatically.  
  
“And you wish to make an impression?” Killian interrupted her.  
  
Emma nodded. “Something like that,” she all but whispered at him.  
  
“I’m sure you’ll do fine. I bet your boss is a great guy,” He grinned widely, leaning his bulk against the sink unit and crossing his arms over his chest. Killian tucked his stump under his armpit and he felt the slack of his broken brace under his tee.  
  
“Yeah, he seems like a good guy,” Emma smiled confidently, her words full of respect. Killian was a good guy, Emma could tell, and the fact that he cared so deeply was very appealing. Emma had been loved once, supposedly, but it had all ended badly. It was one of the reasons she was so reluctant to let anyone in, but damn if Killian wasn’t worming his way through the blackness of her heart.  
  
Another sharp pain shot through Emma’s hand and she noticed the blood seeping through the multiple layers. Emma followed a mixture of instinct and training and held her hand up higher than her heart, trying to slow the bleeding. Killian’s brow knitted together and he twisted his face a little.  
  
“I think you need stitches,” he told her, looking down at his feet.  
  
Emma blew out a breath. “I think you’re right,” she said sadly. “My boss is going to be pissed,” Emma chuckled sarcastically.  
  
Killian shrugged, turning his attentions to the kitchen door where Ruby had just walked in. Her mouth was wide open, jaw hanging loose on her face and her hands immediately flew to her hips. It was true that Killian owned _Granny’s_ but everybody knew that Ruby Lucas ran the place.  
  
“What the hell?” She screamed, taking in the sight before her. Ruby’s eyes fell onto the pile of broken crockery on the floor, shard scattered over the dark grey floor like stars in the night sky. The grey tray to its left was only half filled, a large, curved piece of a broken mug red at the sharp edge with a single run of blood down one side. Ruby looked up to them standing by the sink, Emma’s hand bound in a now red, wet towel and being held above her head by Killian. “What happened?”  
  
Killian offered her a weak smile and Ruby could see that he only had one hand. “Where is your hand?” Ruby shrieked unashamedly. “Why is it not on your arm?” Ruby had so many questions and they tumbled from her lips on high pitched breaths.  
  
“I have broken my brace,” Killian said, his voice soft like a child in trouble. Emma wondered how open he was with Ruby about certain aspects of his life and tried to fend off the pang of jealousy that invaded her heart.  
  
“How?” Ruby snapped, looking back to the fallen cage laying sideways on the floor.  
  
“We had an accident,” Killian offered calmly.  
  
“You had an accident,” Emma interjected accusingly. “I was trying to help and I sustained injury.”  
  
“Aye, you are correct, Swan,” Killian laughed a little. It seemed Emma was nervous about anyone suspecting anything about their future date.  
  
“You’re bleeding!” Ruby screeched, rushing to her side and barging Killian aside. The sink smelled funny and it took a few seconds for Ruby to realise that it was a heady mixture of metallic traces of blood and the spice of rum. “Killian, what did you do?!”  
  
Killian stepped back, arching his neck awkwardly. “Why do you assume I did anything?”  
  
Ruby frowned and looked over Emma’s hand. Dried blood had stained her forearm but the stinging had subsided. Emma offered Killian a smirk, trying to hide it as she watched Ruby chastise him.  
  
“The sink smells like rum,” she huffed accusingly, glaring at him.  
  
Killian went to speak but Ruby cut him off, spying the bottle next to him. She narrowed her eyes at the leather bound, brown glass cask. “And I see you found your secret stash just fine.”  
  
“It was never a secret,” Killian countered and Emma had to stifle a laugh but her mirth was hidden by the echo of Ruby’s as she threw her head back and chuckled.  
  
“No, it never was. Everybody knows where you keep it,” she giggled. Emma joined her, the mood in the room instantly becoming less tense and everyone relaxing a little. Ruby shook her head and sucked in a breath through her teeth. “You need to go to the hospital, sweetie,” Ruby told Emma and Emma nodded in agreement.  
  
“I can take you,” Killian offered helpfully. “It’s the least I can do.” He looked apologetic and Emma felt a little bit sorry for him once Ruby started her tirade again.  
  
“Yes you can!” Ruby told her sternly, her hands returning back to her hips. The skin of her stomach peaked out from under the hem of her short, white top and Emma spied a tiny little tattoo of the moon on her hip. “I’ll clean this up and make sure the diner gets opened,” Ruby sighed, palming her forehead and looking over the carnage in the kitchen.  
  
Killian looked taken aback and shifted nervously. “Thank you, and I’m sorry,” Killian quickly moved to Ruby’s side, wrapping her arm around her and pressing his lips to her cheek. He began to move from the kitchen, grabbing his hand on the way and motioning Emma to follow him with a sideways twitch of his head.  
  
“Yeah yeah,” Ruby waved him away with a hand and reached for the broom. “I’ll see you soon, and Emma?” Ruby caught her attention with her name and Emma spun back around to look at her.  
  
“Please don’t quit,” She laughed.  
  
Killian looked a little panicked because until now the thought had not crossed his mind. Of course, Emma’s start date would have to now be delayed because of her injury, which was his fault, but he had not thought about how her whole experience so far had affected her. It was quite possible that she would just quit before she had even begun.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Emma looked back to Killian as she spoke, offering him a warm smile. “I’m sure I can be persuaded to stay.”  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooo they nearly kissed again! I'm so cruel, sorry :D


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian takes Emma to the hospital after her work related injury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have changed my psued for this story to artistic-writer so its easier to find my OUAT fics XD

Emma felt silly. There were far more important things for the doctors and nurses to be worrying about than her stupid hand. Killian had driven them to the hospital, she wasn’t sure which one, and they were now seated at the back of a small waiting area.

It was a weekday and as such, there were not many people around this early in the morning. There were less people than Emma expected actually, for a city as big as New York. She would have expected a few more people to have needed medical attention, but then she remembered how early it still was.

_God damn early. You need to get a different job, Emma._

Killian was beside her, his black boots scuffing nervously on the almost mirror-like floor tiles under his chair. The flimsy, pull down plastic seats reminded Emma of a baseball stadium, but they were an off white grey instead of any team colour she knew of. They also had an odd, bobbled texture that Emma had never seen before.

Then again, she didn’t frequent many hospitals.

The people who were in the waiting room with them were not causing too much of a disturbance. It was like there was some unwritten code that prevented anybody from talking to each other. Emma didn’t mind much, she liked to keep to herself, but Emma could tell Killian was the complete opposite.

Three chairs over from them were a tired looking couple. They couldn’t have been any older than Emma, and out of the corner of her eye she could see that they had a young toddler. The father looked haggard, the exhaustion etched onto his face. He was slouched down in the chair, his feet crossed at the ankles and his arms folded over his chest. His shirt was rumpled all over, and there was a distinct orange stain on one of his shoulders.

The young mother looked older than she probably was due to her own fatigue. The corners of her eyes were creased, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She wore a jumper, some baggy sweatpants and some hard bottoms slippers, probably thrown on in the haste of leaving their home in such a hurry. As Emma looked them over, she guessed they had probably been there far longer than she and Killian.

The little girl beside the mother sat obediently on the fold down chair. Her tiny hands were rung together, resting in a pile on her lap and Emma could see she was pale. Her skin was clammy and her eyes red, probably from crying so long, and Emma could have sworn she saw a slight hitch in her tiny body as the after effects of her sobs still rocked her minute frame.

The little girl looked directly at Killian, studying the side of his face with an inquisitive stare. Emma smiled, watching her and wondering what she was thinking. Her tiny sweat beaded forehead furrowed a little, and her short, shallow breaths made her entire body move silently as she breathed.

As if he could tell somebody was looking at him, Killian turned his head slowly and locked eyes with the little girl. She didn’t look away but instead met his gaze unashamedly, her little cheeks blushing when her eyes darted to Killian’s hand clutched to his lap. Killian followed her gaze, understanding her confusion instantly.

The little girl shuffled in her seat, turning so that she was totally facing Killian. Killian leaned sideways, sliding his hand behind him as he did, and pulling the seat down between them. He leaned down on his elbow until he was eye level with the little girl, the chair shifting under his weight. Her eyes flicked to his blunted hand once more and Killian grabbed her attention with his other hand, pointing to his nose with his long index finger.

The little girl’s mouth twitched up into a weak smile, her fatigue so heavy over her little body that Killian was surprised she could keep her eyes open and muster a smile at all. He poked his nose and then pointed to the little girl, sticking out his tongue and wiggling it mischievously. Emma couldn’t see what he was doing from where she was sitting, but the smile on the toddler’s face grew slightly and Emma’s soon matched it.

It seemed, amongst other things, Killian was quite good with children.

When the little girl laughed, the echo of her innocent chuckle bouncing around the room, the father stirred. He peeled his eyes open and pushed himself up in his seat, his instinct searching out his daughter’s voice. His eyes fell on Killian, darting between him and his daughter who was clapping her hands together with excitement and burying her face into her mother’s side.

The father smiled, thankful that for the first time in nearly twenty-four hours, his daughter was not screaming. A wave of relief washed over him, and his wide eyes relaxed back into their tired state once he knew his daughter was not unhappy once more. The mother wrapped her arms around the tot, helping her hide her face from Killian’s silliness, her own small laugh slipping from her throat.

“Funny man,” the little girl said gleefully, her toes wiggling in her booted sleepsuit.

“Is he?” The mother asked her with a smile, as if she didn’t know Killian had been making her daughter laugh.

Killian flashed the mother a smile and leaned back up into his seat, letting the chair beside him spring back against the wall with a dull thud. The little girl’s eyes flicked back to Killian’s stump and with a tiny, crooked finger, she pointed at it.

“No fingers,” the little girl said quickly, looking at her mother for an explanation.

The mother blushed, apologising for her daughter instantly with a silent look. Killian shook his head a little, brushing it off. He was used to people staring, didn’t even mind it, but the innocence of children bought out a brutal honesty that often made the adults around them uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” She said quickly, smoothing her hand over her daughter’s back. The girl looked at her and then to Killian.

“Where?” She pointed at his hand again, scrambling to pull down the seat next to her and climb into the cooler plastic chair. She crossed her legs over each other, the tiny bobbled feet of her onesie making a scraping sound over the plastic.

Killian looked to where his hand once was and covered the end with his long fingers. There had been many stories he had told children over the years since his accident, but his favourite still lingered at the forefront of his mind. It wasn’t too scary and had just the right amount of excitement for such a young mind.

Killian licked his lips a little before looking over at the little girl again. His eyebrow jumped up on his face, and he gave her a sideways grin. He crooked a finger at her and leaned sideways over the gap, the little girl eagerly matching his lean and resting forward on her knees. The dark circles under her eyes disappeared when her eyes went wide and she sniffed at a dribble of snot that had escaped her nostril.

“A crocodile took it,” he whispered at her, grinning wildly after his words. The little girl gasped, her little body stiffening in her seat.

“Cwockodile?” She repeated his words with amazement and Killian nodded, watching a small line of drool escape from her mouth which hung open a little.

“A big, big crocodile,” Killian told her with a deep, booming voice. The little girl looked riveted, leaning even more forward.

“Came right out of the sea and CHOMP!” Killian slapped his stump and the little girl jumped back in her seat, her tiny hands clutching over her mouth.

“It eated it!?” The girl gasped and Emma grinned from behind Killian. The little girl couldn’t have been older than three and yet she was fearless, enthralled by Killian’s story despite its horrific undertones.

Killian sat back in his seat and swallowed dramatically, making a cartoon style gulping noise as he did so. The toddler’s face spread into a wide grin, only her two front pegs fully broken through her gums. Her laughing got louder and she turned to her mother, tugging harshly on the sleeve of her sweatshirt. She was just about to babble something when a nurse called to her parents, signalling it was their turn to see a doctor.

Killian sat back, offering the parents a smile as they made their way from the waiting room. The little girl clutched at her mother’s shoulders, resting her head sideways and grinning at Killian shyly as they disappeared around a blue privacy curtain.

“A crocodile, huh?” Emma tried to suppress her laugh, but a snort escaped her throat. Killian leaned back in his chair and gave her a smirk, his eyebrow quirking up on his forehead. He reached up behind his ear and scratched the skin there, a habit Emma was coming to notice he did more and more.

“Aye,” Killian said confidently, reclaiming his hand from the gap between them. “Have you ever tried to explain the intricacies of sailing to a babe?”

Emma shook her head with a chuckle, looking down at her own hand painfully wrapped with the rough textured, off white towel. Killian had a point. She had not, and it seemed a more fitting thing to simply make up how he had come to have only one hand. At least then, Killian could change his story to suit the situation or age of his audience.

Emma’s hand throbbed. The pain had subsided, but only a little. The adrenaline that had caused her body to flush hot and her blood to pump from the open wound in her palm had long since faded away, and she was now in the stages of being in uncomfortable pain. Shifting in her seat, Emma pulled her wrapped hand to her chest and sighed.

“I’m sure it will not be much longer,” Killian offered lightly, noticing Emma’s discomfort. “Once again, I am truly sorry, Swan.”

Emma studied him as he spoke, his eyes full of hurt. Killian was a good guy, Emma could tell that, and behind all of the bravado and confidence was a man who had lived through his fair share of sorrow.

“Why do you keep doing that?” Emma narrowed her eyes and twisted her head sideways.

“To what are you referring?” Killian asked her nervously, his position shifting so he was leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. Emma watched him squirm and noticed how he avoided her gaze, instead fixing his stare on the floor between his feet.

“Apologising,” Emma said shortly, her voice a little too frustrated. The pain in her hand had radiated up her arm now and she was a little more irritated than she would like to admit.

Killian looked at her and gave her a tight lipped smile. “I’m sorry,” he chuckled and Emma rolled her eyes.

_So British._

“This isn’t your fault,” Emma said flatly.

“I feel like it is,” Killian admitted and Emma’s brow furrowed with confusion. Before he had time to say anything else, Emma reached out with her hand and wrapped it gently around his wrist. Killian watched her fingers grip at his skin, the heat from her fingertips searing into his flesh.

Emma wasn’t sure why she felt the need to reassure him but she did. Emma didn’t know much about Killian Jones, but she knew he could bury himself in guilt as good as she could. Nobody was to blame for them being there, but the pang of sorrow in his voice as he spoke began to chip away at the walls around her heart.

_Uh oh._

“Emma Swan?”

They both looked to their right, the voice of a tall, thin, blonde nurse bringing them both back to reality. Emma pulled her hand away from Killian’s wrist quickly and then they stood in unison and the nurse waved them to follow her with a smile.

The soft, rubber clog style shoes that she wore squeaked across the floor as she walked. Emma followed the nurse hurriedly, noting how she walked quite fast despite them falling behind. Killian fell into line behind the two women, his hand tucked under one arm and his lip tucked nervously under his teeth.

“Just in here,” the nurse stopped by a cubicle and extended her arm, motioning Emma inside. She was a little too joyous for this early in the morning, and Emma forced a smile as she walked past the taller woman into the room. “A doctor will be along shortly.”

“Thank you,” Killian told her softly, following Emma into the makeshift room and watching the nurse leave, her squeaky shoes echoing down the hall.

Emma perched on the edge of the bed, the crisp white sheets rippling under her weight. She blew out a breath, and looked around, noticing how every inch of the hospital looked identical to the next.

“What a great first day,” She huffed, focusing on a dark patch in the corner of the ceiling that had clearly been covered unsuccessfully with cheap paint.

“You are not enjoying this?” Killian teased, easing himself into the chair beside the bed and relaxing into the plush, plastic coated cushioning.

“Oh yeah,” Emma laughed weakly.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Killian promised with a grin.

“And you’ll pay me overtime for this,” Emma scoffed, wincing a little.

“Of course,” Killian bowed his head in agreement, amused by how bold Emma became when she was agitated. He had only seen her so bold once before, but they were both too drunk then.

“Good,” Emma pursed her lips when another pain rocked her arm.

The curtain to the cubicle rattled along its plastic rail and made Emma jump back a little. The square jawed doctor stepped into the space they occupied, his head buried in the clipboard of notes about his patient. He had short, cropped blonde hair that was clearly out of a bottle, and Emma gave Killian a silently amused twitch of a smile.

“Emma Swan,” the doctor said softly as he looked up from his notes. “I’m Dr. Whale,” he said with a chirp, resting the clipboard to the end of the bed and plunging his hands into the big pockets of his lab coat. “What can we do for you today?”

Emma held up her wrapped hand and sighed. “Injury at work,” she said simply, tentatively resting her hand on her thigh.

Plucking two sterile gloves from a wall mounted box, Dr. Whale stepped forward and picked up Emma’s bound hand. He squinted at the makeshift bandage, wrinkling his nose a little at the smell that was wafting from the fabric.

“The wound was bathed in alcohol and wrapped immediately,” Killian butted in, leaving out the finer details of his quick medical attempt.

“So it seems,” Whale swallowed, the taste of metallic tainted rum sticking to the back of his throat.

“At least it has stopped bleeding,” Emma said through a wince as Whale began to unwrap the towel. The material has become crusted with her blood and it pulled against the edges of the wound as Whale unravelled it. A hot wetness pooled in her palm once more as the slit in her hand reopened and the thick, red ooze began to flow from the cut once more.

“I’m sorry,” Whale said quickly, grabbing some sterile gauze he had set up beside Emma’s thigh and pressing it to the wound. “This looks nasty.”

“How bad?” Killian interjected and Emma shot him a look.

Whale lifted her hand closer to his face, twisting her wrist as he inspected it. Dabbing more gauze, he cocked his head sideways. Emma watched him intently, eager to hear the answer to Killian’s question.

“Can you do this?” Whale asked Emma, clenching his fist and then flexing his fingers back open. Emma copied his movements, gritting her teeth through the pain. Blood spurted from her palm once more when she flexed her hand and it ran over her fingers like water.

“How about this?” Whale made a pinching action, pressing his thumb and forefinger together, moving his thumb between his fingers one after the other and back again. Again, Emma copied him, pushing through the pain in order to do so.

“It hurts like hell,” Emma bit out, the dull throb radiating up her forearm.

“That’s good,” Whale smiled, his thin lips barely covering his small, peg like teeth. “It means you haven’t damaged any nerves.”

Whale stepped back and snapped his gloves from his hands, tossing them into a square, metal yellow bin behind him.

“Is she going to be okay?” Killian asked eagerly, looking over at Emma as the words fell from his lips.

Emma looked over and met his stare, his impossibly blue eyes filled with genuine worry. It was a strange sensation, being cared for, one that Emma didn’t think she would ever get used to feeling during her entire life. Snow was usually the one to do all the caring and it seemed a little strange for Emma to cause so much worry in someone she’d just met.

But then again, Killian Jones had done nothing but surprise her so far.

“I’m going to get a nurse to come stitch you up, and then you and your boyfriend can head home.” Whale gave them both one last smile and then disappeared through the curtain, pulling it closed behind him.

_Boyfriend? Is it that obvious?_

Emma shot Killian a glance, rolling her eyes when his eyebrow jumped up on his forehead and his lips twitched sideways.

“Don’t say it,” Emma warned him.

“Whatever do you mean?” Killian bit his tongue between his teeth and gave her a boyish grin.

Emma clenched her hand closed around the padded gauze, watching it soak up the blood and turning the sterile dressing a glistening red colour.

“We haven’t even been on our date yet,” Emma scoffed.

“By definition, love, spending time together in a setting other than work or around friends, makes it a date,” Killian laughed at his own words, especially Emma’s response. Emma gasped, her whole body shaking with a single snort of laughter.

“This is not a date,” She shook her head incredulously. “If it was, I would not agree to a second.”

Killian feigned shock, sitting back and placing his hand over his heart.

“You wound me, Swan,” he grinned.

At that exact moment, a tiny nurse slipped through the curtain with a small metal tray in her hands. She was already wearing gloves and the tray was laden with the supplies she was going to need. She smiled at Killian and then introduced herself to Emma.

“Ouch, Honey, that looks like something got you good,” she said sweetly, her accent clearly out of place in New York. She had a thick, Texas accent that confused both of them, until she looked at them with a knowing wave of her hand and a click of her tongue. “I’m a bit far from home, I know, but my husband is from New York.”

“We are all far from home,” Killian nodded at her knowingly, his own accent covering his words.

The nurse picked up Emma’s hand and sucked in a hiss through her teeth. “That’s deep, but don’t you worry,” she patted Emma on the knee lovingly, moving to pick up the filled syringe on the tray beside her. “I’m going to fix you right up.”

Emma watched her closely as she plucked the needle from the tray, holding the tiny clear liquid filled syringe at eye level and squirting a little from the needle. Emma was no stranger to pain, she had dealt with it all of her life, but it never got any easier.

The nurse instructed Emma on how to position her hand and then apologised as she pricked Emma’s skin with the numbing agent.

“Son of a…” Emma’s palm stung instantly and she stiffened her entire body, trying desperately to not pull her hand from where the nurse had laid it. A pang of guilt invaded Killian’s heart and without thinking, he reached out and grabbed Emma’s hand.

The sting in her hand turned to a burn as the nurse injected the numbing agent around the wound, but Emma did not notice. Killian’s skin on hers was like fire, the warmth turning the pain her other arm to nothing. Emma looked to their joined hands as Killian laced his fingers with hers, encouraging her to grip onto his fingers with a gentle squeeze.

Emma felt like she couldn’t breathe. Killian didn’t have to bring her to the hospital, and he didn’t have to wait with her. He most certainly didn’t have to offer her an out for her pain, especially in the form of his hand in hers. The walls around Emma’s heart cracked, and when Killian smiled at her reassuringly, Emma was sure that one side of her defense crumbled.

Emma pinched her eyes closed and hissed. The needle pierced her skin for the last time, the burning liquid being injected into the wound site as deep down as the stitches would go.

“All done,” The nurse declared, capping the needle and sliding to the side of the room where she deposited it into the designated receptacle.

Emma let out the breath she had been holding, and all she heard was her heart pounding in her ears. She released her hold on Killian and he too let out a breath she hadn’t realised he was holding.

“Alright?” he asked her softly, almost a whisper. Emma nodded quickly, swallowing and puffing a short pant out and across her upper lip.

“Okay, sweetie, now to the stitching part,” the nurse announced as she arrived back at the bedside and pulled on a new set of gloves. A wisp of white powder escaped into the air when she snapped the cuff to her wrist but evaporated almost immediately. “Don’t worry,” she smiled at Killian and then Emma. “I’m very good at sewing.”

The stitching part was still painful but was somewhat dulled by the numbing agent. Emma felt just a little pressure in her palm, following by the oddest sensation as the blue, plastic suture was pulled through her skin, knitting the edges together with a knot.

Killian felt Emma tighten her grip once more and she turned her head away from what the nurse was doing. It was unexpected of her, almost childlike, and he frowned a little when he saw Emma shy away.

“I thought you were brave, love,” he leaned forward and whispered into Emma’s ear. His breath tickled the shell of her ear and Emma peeled her eyes open to look at him. She swallowed hard, the sudden lump in her dry throat difficult to manage. Killian’s face was so close to hers and Emma’s breath hitched in her chest, the light blue of his eyes suddenly more of a grey colour.

“I am,” Emma’s voice quivered when the tip of her nose brushed against his as she turned to face him. Emma’s green orbs flitted between Killian’s dusty blues and his lips.

_Kiss him._

Staring into each other's eyes made the world fall away from them, and Emma wondered what exactly her own words had meant. She was sure that when Killian had asked her if she was brave, he wasn’t talking about getting stitches.

_Kiss him, Emma. Listen to yourself._

Killian rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, swallowing hard. The emerald sparkle in Emma’s eyes was obsessively alluring, and Killian couldn’t tear his eyes away from hers. There was a ferocity in her stare, something deep down that made Killian begin to sweat under his hairline. His tongue darted out to moisten his smile and Emma could have sworn that it touched the plumpness of her parted lips.

Emma felt like she might explode. She wasn’t sure if she was frozen to the spot because of fear of Killian kissing her, or because she was scared he might not.

“Right, you’re done,” the nurse’s southern drawl shook them both from their reverie as she patted Emma on the knee again. Emma pulled her hand from Killian’s and coughed a little, clearing her throat. Killian sat back in his chair, running his hand through his hair as he sank back into the seat.

“Thanks,” Emma smiled at her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

The nurse looked at Killian and gave him a sweet grin. “You can take her home whenever you feel ready,” she winked as she left them alone once more.

Emma laughed, hiding her face in her hand.

“Don’t be so dismissive of the doctor’s orders,” Killian told her smugly, scratching the skin behind his ear again.

“She’s a nurse,” Emma said flatly, hopping from the bed and giving him a warning look. “Don’t get any ideas, Jones.”

“Did you not enjoy yourself today?” Killian smirked.

“Worst date ever,” Emma teased, flicking her hair over her shoulder with her good hand.

Killian flicked his wrist and looked at the time on his watch. They had been in the hospital for nearly four hours and it was most certainly now lunch time. “Let me take you to lunch so that I may make it up to you.”

Emma studied his face, the tension from their almost kiss now seemingly non existent. She bit the inside of her mouth and eyed him suspiciously. “It’s not a date,” Emma said defiantly, pointing an accusing finger at him.

Killian shook his head. “Most certainly not.”

“Right, okay,” Emma relaxed a little, smoothing the wrinkles out of her top with one hand. She just wanted to get out of the hospital.

“Don’t worry, Swan,” Killian began cockily, turning to face her as he walked backwards out of the cubicle. He quirked his eyebrow and ran his tongue over his teeth. It seemed now that he knew Emma would have no lasting damage to her hand, his arrogance had returned. “Our date will be something you will not want to forget in such a hurry.”

 


End file.
